


The Billionaire's Sons

by agib



Series: Parksborn [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Peter Parker, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hostage Situations, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Norman Osborn's A+ parenting, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Harry Osborn, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-10-14 11:56:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17508164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agib/pseuds/agib
Summary: Being the son of a billionaire isn't easy, especially when it makes you more of a target for hostage situations and ransom demands. But what happens when two boys, with a rivalry forged by the media, are thrown into a cell together?Enemies to Friends to Lovers is what happens.





	1. Being Shoved Into A Cell Opens A World Of Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parkrstark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkrstark/gifts).



> Hhhh so this is my first non-platonic fic, (of course there's still gonna be irondad, I swear it's coming,) and I know Parksborn isn't a big ship, I know Parkrstark ships these two, and pretty much this story is for her, because she's the one who got be into the fandom, and also Parksborn (I read like every fic on ao3 that's tagged as parksborn and I needed more... so I did it myself).
> 
> \----
> 
> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

They got Peter before he could even reach the subway. He managed to clip someone in the jaw with all his flailing, but he was so much smaller and weaker than the eight fully grown men who manhandled him into the trunk of a car, so he had never _really_ stood much of a chance. 

 

He pounded for a while, but his hands grew sore, so he resigned to spend a good five minutes squirming around until he was squashed up into the corner. He made use of the leg room and took three kicks until the break light popped out of place and he could see the road behind the car. He watched it rolling past, the painted lines flew by and he realised that even if he managed to open the boot, there was no way he could jump out without giving himself severe road rash, at the best. 

 

Peter wasn’t sure what he could do then, so he twisted himself into a position that he could probably fight the best from when the men decided to pop the trunk. 

 

As the car finally slowed, his breathing picked up and when the boot opened, he slammed a foot out blindly, connecting with someone’s gut. He heard an aggravated grunt, had a split second to register the dull, grey building behind the men before a hand gripped his hair painfully and he was being dragged out of the trunk while two men held his arms behind his back.

 

They moved him inside and he still struggled, despite the force at which the man tugged at his hair. Someone opened a door and they shoved him in before he could fight anymore.

 

Peter would have fallen flat on his face from the sheer momentum he had gathered from the harsh shove, but instead, he was slammed into someone else’s chest, and they both went down. His back hit the cement floor and he yelped in pain, while the other person had scuffed their elbows and probably banged up their knees. They were both pressed together, chest to chest on the floor. It would have been an awkward position to be in, considering the situation they were in, but Peter was more focused on how much his back was throbbing now, or the fact that his eyesight was still adjusting from being locked in a car trunk for the entire drive.

 

Peter looked up at whoever was currently on top of him and it took a moment for the vaguely familiar face to click in his head. 

 

Dark, well-groomed hair which was almost jet black in the poor lighting of the room, a ‘fashionably’ popped collar and an unwavering gaze held by deep blue eyes which were currently locked onto his own. The intensity of the gaze made his breath catch in his throat, but the brunette blinked before the face above him swam into recognition. As soon as it clicked, Peter felt the flush rising on his cheeks when he took in the close proximity between them.

 

It was undeniably Harry Osborn, the same ‘billionaires’ son’ who the media decided to pit against him. Not to mention the fact that Harry just so happened to be the son of Norman Osborn, who was Stark Industries’ biggest rival.

 

“Stark?” Harry said, shoving off the ground and pushing himself away from Peter, using his last name in a way that definitely didn’t make the hair on Peter’s arms stand up. Harry didn’t look as mad as he did surprised to see the younger teen as his new cell mate.

 

“H - Harry? Peter asked, pulling himself up off the ground and watching the other boy as he pulled at the doorknob.

 

“Fucking hell,” Harry huffed as the handle didn’t budge. “That was my chance out of here,” he groaned, rubbing an exasperated hand over his face, which Peter avoided looking at as he brushed himself off.

 

“Sorry, they pushed me in and I didn’t have time to -” he began, before the other teen cut him off.

 

“No, just…” Harry sighed heavily, “just don’t.” He walked past Peter and slid down the wall opposite the door until he was sat on the dirty floor, his jeans covered in grime which Peter hadn’t noticed previously.

 

“How long have yo-”

 

“Since this morning,” Harry answered before his apparent new cellmate had finished asking, cutting him off yet again. He looked up and saw the frightened expression which had begun to take over Peter’s face, and he sighed again. “You’ll be fine, they’ll send a ransom demand and then we’ll be out of here. What is this, your first hostage situation?” Peter gaped at how calm and unbothered Harry seemed to be, despite the fact that they were the sons of the two most influential billionaires in the world and were currently being held captive in a dingy room with a locked door.

 

“Y - yeah of course it is, I’ve never been _kidnapped_ before, jeez.” Harry looked at him blankly, something indescribable flickering in his eyes, perhaps it was jealousy.

 

“Consider yourself lucky,” he muttered, turning away and staring at the wall as Peter started to look for another way out. He had already checked everything in the room twice, so the other teens attempts would be fruitless. Unsurprisingly, after about half an hour of silence and numerous minutes wasted on rechecking the room for a way out, Peter spoke. 

 

“How many times have you been… y’know - how many times has this happened?” Harry looked up at Peter where he was leaning against the door. For no good reason, his jealousy spiked as he took in the way Peter still held optimism despite the fear.

 

“I was never a _secret_ like you, everyone’s always known I was Norman Osborn’s son.” Peter blinked, looking slightly sympathetic. “Probably once or twice every couple of years,” Harry answered evenly. The younger teen looked horrified at the admittance, and he shifted slightly as if he wanted to move closer to the wall Harry was sat against. “Don’t _pity,_ me. It’s not that big of a deal,” he retorted, annoyance ringing in his tone as he faced away from Peter again.

 

“I - I wasn’t, I just think that’s really messed u -”

 

“Stop!” Harry snapped, making Peter flinch. “Just be quiet, I don’t want your stupid sympathy. It’s not my fault you were kept out of the limelight for so long, and it’s not my fault your Dad practically bubble wraps you.” Harry’s voice was harsh, and Peter closed his mouth, his cheeks flushing slightly in humiliation.

 

“Sorry,” he murmured quietly, his back still pressed against the door. Harry felt a twinge of guilt as he noted the way Peter seemed to shrink in on himself slightly. But, as most times, he shoved it aside roughly and ignored the small part of himself that wanted to apologise or comfort the teen who had never been taken against his will before.

 

\----

 

They sat in silence for what Peter would estimate at about an hour, but he wasn’t sure, considering the men had stripped him of his phone and watch, which had concealed his Dad’s tracker. The door must have either been soundproofed, they were far down a quiet hall in the building, or the men were silent too, because there was no outside noise filtering through.

 

Harry heard Peter’s small huffs every few minutes, and if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the smaller teen was starving off an anxiety attack. He slightly regretted snapping at the boy, but after he surpassed several separate kidnappings, his patience for sitting around in dusty rooms, waiting for his father to either pay ransom or for the kidnappers to get bored, had thinned severely.

 

“Just take a couple deep breaths, like I said before, _we’ll be fine._ ” Peter looked up at him but still seemed unsettled, “look, I’m sitting here right now, and I’m fine, I’ve never gotten more than a few bruises before, so just trust me.” Peter thought he might have picked up a slight hint of security in Harry’s words, although it washed away from his cloudy, blue eyes quicker than it had come. “Try to calm down a bit,” the teen added, blinking before turning away again.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Peter muttered, silently hoping his Dad would come through for him before he managed to collect too many bruises from the ordeal. He held faith, Tony was fiercely protective of him, especially since the leak.

 

_That stupid leak._

 

\----

 

It was such an easy mistake, Tony had picked him up from school because Happy wasn’t working that week. He had even taken a shitty ‘under the radar’ car, just so he could slip past press and paparazzi without drawing a crowd of vultures.

 

Unfortunately, with the luck Peter happened to have, the same day his Dad picked him up, was also the day that a few interviewers were doing an article for the most recent award an overachiever had won from their school.

 

It happened so quickly, Peter walked out into the pickup zone, Tony rolled the window down to make sure he caught the teen’s attention, and then Peter was surrounded by camera flashes and hands on his shoulder, tilting him towards recording devices and screaming questions about why Tony Stark was picking him up.

 

Peter knew his Dad’s instincts kicked in as soon as he was out of sight, condensed among the lump of reporters. But he didn’t expect him to make it mildly worse.

 

Okay, _much_ worse. 

 

“Get away from my kid,” Peter heard the voice and he decided the only way to describe it, was as a growl. A new pair of hands gripped one of his shoulders, shoving the rest away before taking his hand and dragging him past the newer hordes of paparazzi that were beginning to form as news spread and more pictures were leaked.

 

The car door slammed shut and Tony drove off, wheels screeching as he passed through two lanes of traffic with little regard for the law.

 

“That was… that wasn’t the best way to handle that, I’ll take responsibility.” Tony said somewhat meekly, with a flicker of tentative humour leaking through his voice.

 

Surprisingly, a laugh bubbled up Peter’s throat and he looked over at his Dad, brown eyes filled with worry, but also teeming with the familiar expression that assured his father, he wasn’t blaming him for anything.

 

“Understatement, Dad, that was such an understatement.”

 

\----

 

There wasn’t as much humour in Peter’s voice two days later, after all the online blogs, reports, pictures and interviews had been released. Multiple snapshots of Tony pulling Peter through the crowd and into their car were plastered over the front cover of all the magazines, recordings of his father snapping at the paparazzi “get away from my kid,” were aired on the news, the current celebrity news YouTube channels. The incident spread like wildfire throughout the media, and soon enough, Peter was dubbed ‘the secret child of Tony Stark.’

 

His palms were sweaty, and he felt like the tie was choking his throat which constantly bobbed as he swallowed nervously. Tony was giving him concerned, sideway glances every few seconds, but Peter couldn’t back out now.

 

“Are you sure? Seriously Pete, you really don’t have to do this,” Tony pressed.

 

“Dad, what else _can_ I do?” Tony dropped eye contact to look up at the ceiling and sigh. “Exactly,” Peter said, “you told me honestly that if we ignore it and shut down the rumours, there’s no way people will drop it. So… why don’t we just do this press conference and get it over with.”

 

Tony looked more than sceptical, he looked like all he wanted to do was wrap Peter in a metaphorical blanket and take him home like a petulant child.

 

“Kid…” he began, eyeing the determination that burnt through the nerves showing on his son’s face. “You know that after this conference, everything’s gonna change. You’re going to get about as much attention as me, and I don’t want you to get overwhelmed.” Peter snorted before covering it with a mild cough.

 

“Either way, answer questions or ignore the problem, the media is never going to just leave me alone, we both know that.” Tony scrunched his nose up as the car pulled into its park, even through the tinted windows Peter could feel the glare of all the camera flashes. “I’ll be okay, you’re right up there with me, if anyone asks anything you don’t want me to answer -”

 

“Then I’ll answer for you,” Tony finished, his hand lifting to squeeze Peter’s shoulder as Happy pulled open the door for them and the clicking of camera buttons along with interviewers crying for ‘just one question,’ filled all background noise. “Stay by me, don’t let them grab your arm when you walk past the ropes,” Tony instructed, keeping Peter pressed firmly against his side as they began walking through the barriers, away from the car and into the small press conference area.

 

As expected, there were _many_ questions. All about Peter, and about how he came to be, who he was, the exact nature of his relationship with Tony. When he answered questions about his father, there were an influx of more about what kind of parent he was, how good of an influence he was, and some mildly offensive comments about Tony’s ability to parent during his playboy phase.

 

“If you must know, my Dad is perfectly capable of raising and taking care of me. He’s more than financially stable, he’s mentally sound, unlike what some of your articles attempt to imply, not to mention one of the most caring people I’ve met in my entire life, and,” Peter paused as he felt Tony reaching over and clasping his hand, squeezing gently and smiling, his head still facing the crowd. “And - he loves me, and I love my Dad, so yes - _yes_ he is far better than just ‘capable.’ His so-called ‘playboy phase,’ didn’t impact me in the slightest.”

 

The sea of reporters blinked back at him, a few nodding, majority rushing to scribble down his exact words.

 

But that was three months ago, and the media wasn’t always the kindest thing. 

 

\----

 

Harry had never been shielded from the media like Peter had, he was known as ‘Norman Osborn’s son’ from day one, onwards. Naturally, Norman and Tony were pitted against each other, each new product launch and every new discovery was shoved in the others face by the media, and it wasn’t long until the two men were taking advantage of that fact.

 

If Tony’s latest Starkpad did well on the market, Norman would release a new product to counter Stark Industries. Unsurprisingly, when it was revealed that Tony Stark had a teenage son, same age as Harry, the media not only over exaggerated the rivalry between them, but singlehandedly created it too.

 

Peter had seen a few magazine articles and interviews here or there that focused on Harry, but he had never met the boy. When magazines began the trend of ‘who wore it better’ or ‘the best child prodigy,’ the fake rivalry was born. Soon enough, every time Peter went out in public, at least several articles would be published comparing him to Harry, making comparisons and highlighting their differences, both positively and negatively.

 

Peter would never say it aloud, but he was extremely perplexed when a fair amount of those articles labelled him the ‘most desirable.’ Harry was all dark hair and gleaming eyes, designer clothing and hidden talents, and Peter felt like he was just… Peter.

 

\----

 

“Uh - uhm, Harry?” Peter stuttered as he began to back away from the door.

 

“What?” The boy asked, eyeing the way Peter was staring at the handle like it would burn him. He pulled himself to his feet and slid to the side as Peter backed up until they were standing next to each other, a few steps between them. The smaller teen opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off when there was a pounding on the door. A small metal slot was pushed to the side and the boys stayed silent when two eyes appeared in the tiny slit.

 

“Don’t move, the door’s opening now,” the voice was deep and very obviously a fully-grown adult male. Peter swallowed around the thick lump in his throat and unconsciously did a sweep of the room for anything he could defend himself with.

 

“Don’t,” Harry warned from beside him, recognising the look in Peter’s eyes that gave away what he was thinking. “Not worth it, just do what they say,” he repeated, fixing Peter with a serious look, trying to gauge whether the boy was going to try something.

 

The door pushed open and Harry could see as the muscles in Peter’s arm tensed up when his fists clenched at his sides. The teen’s foot shifted and Harry ground his teeth together, _why couldn’t he just listen?_

 

Peter flinched when Harry moved in his peripheral vision, but he stilled once he had positioned himself closer to the door, a few paces in front of Peter. _Not exactly blocking him from harm, but more so trying to prevent him from doing anything stupid that would get us both in deep shit,_ Harry convinced himself silently.

 

“What did I just say kid?” The man, who was stocky and looked like he could pin Harry down with one meaty finger, snapped angrily, glaring at the dark-haired boy. Harry kept his mouth shut and didn’t say a word. “I said _don’t_ move, and what did you just do, huh?”

 

“I moved,” Harry stated plainly, forcing himself not to show the mild fear that was rising in his stomach as the man walked toward him and reached a thick arm out towards his elbow. The larger man grumbled as he gripped the teen’s arm, tugging him forward, not caring as the jerky pull forced him to keep in stride.

 

“Damn right you did, Osborn.” The man spat Harry’s last name as if it were venom on his tongue, and he shot a warning look in Peter’s direction as he continued moving for the door. Harry was still being brought along with him, led by the harsh hand clamped over his arm.

 

“Hey,” a voice, that had sounded almost meek up until now, came from behind them. Harry kept walking, squeezing his eyes shut and silently hoping Peter just kept quiet and didn’t provoke the man who was currently holding his arm with bruising force. Despite the fact that Harry kept walking, the man holding him swivelled to face Peter.

 

“You got something to say?” The man asked, his eyes daring Peter to try something. Harry   
winced as the hand on his arm squeezed tighter as his frustration for the other boy he had kidnapped grew. “I said,” the man enforced, “you got something t -”

 

“ _Yes_ , Peter answered, his tone almost as sharp as the man’s had been as he cut him off. “I want to know what you want with m - with _us_.” There was a pause in which Harry thought the man would snap and charge at Peter, but after a drawn-out moment of silence, he merely huffed a very facetious sounding laugh.

 

“You can _want_ all you’d like, we’re not bargaining.” Harry leaned away from the harsh grip on his arm, but it pressed tighter and he sighed, wishing Peter would leave it alone.

 

“I never said bargaining, I want to know why you stuck us in here, and where you’re taking him.” Peter head nodded towards Harry, and the dark-haired teen watched a stray curl untuck from where it had been pushed back, and furl up against the other boy’s forehead. He remembered a certain article that had compared his attributes against Peter’s, and it was pointed out that the slightly younger of the two presented a rather innocent look with the loose curls that often fell over his forehead.

 

“You’re not as passive as I thought,” the man drawled, eyeing the way Peter stood as if he were ready to bolt. The hand on Harry’s arm fell and he was shoved a few steps backward as the man’s hand reached at something attached to his belt. “I’m gonna need one more down the hall,” the man’s eyes drifted over Peter’s form as he spoke into a walkie, “yeah, Stark’s one wants to come with. _Don’t you_?”

 

“He’s impulsive, just get it over with and leave him here, it doesn’t matter.” Peter’s eyes switched to Harry as he spoke, and an almost hurt look crossed his face, it made that strange guilt creep back into Harry. “If you’re doing the ransom demand, just use me, it’s fine,” he pressed, directing his attention to the man because he couldn’t stand the confusion surrounding why he felt so bad insulting a person who the media constantly pitted him against.

 

“No, don’t argue, he’s coming too now.” The hand snapped out towards Harry’s arm and before he could stop himself, his body pulled away and the man gripped nothing but air. The irony, how Harry had just called Peter impulsive, when he was just the one to dart away from the now irritated man. “Slimy brat, you cause trouble and you’ll be showing your father more than just a few bruises.” From behind him, Harry heard Peter’s shoes squeaking as he moved.

 

“You try to hurt him - I know how to bite,” Peter warned dangerously, his shoulder brushing Harry’s as he stepped past him to glare at the man.

 

“You make threats,” the man leaned in, his face inches away from Peter’s, which was holding ground. “And I make promises,” the man’s hand shot forward and grabbed the collar of Peter’s shirt, lifting him up until he was balancing on the tips of his toes. “And I promise, that if you even _try_ to bite, I will make sure your Dad has to spend more than what he’s gonna be paying us, on your hospital bills.”

 

“You called!” A new voice rang out, a second man walking through the doorway, he was leaner than the first, but much taller. He towered over Peter and Harry, his jaw tightened when he saw the way Peter was dropped back to the balls of his feet and pushed towards him with a sneer. “This one Stark’s or Osborn’s?”

 

“You got Stark’s I’ll take the other one,” the stockier man resumed his hold on Harry, and the teen didn’t let himself flinch. Peter, however, was struggling, his spare arm flailing as he threw hits with his non-dominant fist. Harry was pulled towards the door as the second man continued to try and force Peter from where he had dug his heels in and attempted to scoot backward.

 

“Hey,” Harry murmured quietly as he passed, his spare hand reaching out to lay flat against Peter’s shoulder. “You’re going to end up getting hurt, just do what I do.” The other teen stilled when he felt the gentle hand laying against his arm, but he looked up to meet Harry’s eyes, the blue of them once again took Peter by surprise.

 

“Why? We don’t have to do what they want.” Peter was in stride with Harry now, if not a few steps behind as the two men led them down a hallway.

 

“Because this is how you get through shit like this, keep your head down, do what they want, and our fathers will either get us out or pay the ransom.” Peter didn’t answer, but he frowned as if he didn’t like the idea of either option.

 

The men pulled the two teens to the right and suddenly they were in a larger room. There were three other men standing in a huddle, each of them were taller than both Peter and Harry, as well as their stocky build.

 

Peter couldn’t immediately see any tattoos or signs that pointed towards the possibility of a gang, so he assumed there was another reason himself and Harry were taken. They were led to where the group was standing, and Peter grimaced when one of the men spat a wad of orange gum at his feet.

 

“These the kids?” There wasn’t a verbal answer, but the large man holding Harry nodded stiffly and pushed him forward slightly, the same time Peter was. “Good, we’ll get ‘em set up then,” his head jerked towards one of the others as he spoke, “get your phone out Greg.”

 

Peter winced as the grip tightened, he could feel each individual nail digging into his upper arm. Harry’s eyebrow twitched when he saw the look of pain and discomfort that crossed Peter’s face. His teeth grated against each other as the smaller teen was manoeuvred so he was stood in front of the man, whose name was apparently Greg, and the phone was lifted up at an angle that would cut Harry out of frame but keep Peter in the centre.

 

There was a nod from Greg, and then the familiar sound of the record button being pressed. Harry didn’t know exactly what he expected, but every other situation he had been in like this, had always started with the amount that the men wanted his father to pay, and then occasionally a few threats, and uncommonly a few rough shoves, often an irritating jab, or slap.

 

That wasn’t how it worked this time.

 

Less than three seconds after the record button had been pressed, the stockier man backhanded Peter, harshly, and faster than anyone could react.

 

“ _Brat._ ” the force of the hit sent Peter stumbling back a step or two, his right cheek turning an angry scarlet in the relative shape of a hand. “Stark, you listen to us, because I’m not pissing around,” his threat was emphasised when he stepped forward to yank at Peter’s arm, forcing him to jerk back towards the camera. The teen didn’t get far, because the man’s fat fist tangled in his hair and tugged downward, so his neck was exposed. “Do you know how easy this pretty throat would be to slit?” The man’s fingers danced lightly over the pale expanse of Peter’s neck as he directed the question to the camera. “Wouldn’t take me more than thirty seconds, but I could make it last a lot longer if I wanted to.”

 

Harry could see the way Peter’s body leaned away from the man’s, but he could also see how the fingers tightened in his hair as he did so.

 

“Dad, you don’t need to do anything they sa-” Peter was cut off as one of the other guards surged into frame and sent a heavy fist into his gut. A strangled puff of all the air leaving the teen’s lungs rattled through the room. He sucked back in shakily, his neck tilting as he tried to meet the second man’s gaze. “He’s no - not gonna do what y - you want. You’re too sloppy, he’s probably already in the suit on his w - way right now.”

 

Harry turned his face away as he heard one of the men pushing the other away, so nothing was stopping him from grabbing Peter’s throat and shoving the boy’s skull down into his kneecap. When he heard Peter hitting the floor, his teeth ground against each other so heavily that he thought they might crack.

 

“You keep your fucking mouth _shut._ ” the man growled as he held Peter’s wrists down with one hand and straddled him, preventing the scrawny teen from pulling himself off the ground. His other hand brought another slap across the brunette’s face, nails catching his cheekbone as he roughly grabbed Peter’s cheeks and squeezed so hard that his lips parted. “Got it, kid?” The grip tightened and despite the fact that Harry wasn’t looking, he heard the sound of Peter trying to speak.

 

“Yes, _shit_ I get it.” The man, now satisfied, shoved off the boy before using the collar of his shirt to drag him back to his feet.

 

“You see this?” The first man asked as the second shook Peter roughly. “This is what happens every few hours until we get the hard cash, and every hour you don’t show up with a bag of seven million, we up it by another ten-thousand and he gets another bruise.” He stepped into Peter’s bubble of space, _too close_ Harry decided. The man’s three fingers came up to cup Peter’s chin and the boy grimaced as Harry used everything he had to not say anything. “A bruise, or _worse_. Hope you understand Stark, wouldn’t want you to be too broke to pay for the hospital fees.”

 

Peter shook his head violently and the man’s fingers fell away. His eyes hardened, and Harry tried to catch his attention with a small shake of his head, but Peter was far too stubborn.

 

“Screw you,” he hissed, “you’re seriously trying to threaten Iron Man? I hope you regret it as much as I already pity you.”

 

“Peter,” Harry whispered from off-camera, his eyes halfway between warning and begging. “ _Don’t._ ” There was an exchange without words when Peter turned to look at him, the teen might have been smaller, but he was so much more stubborn that a small part of Harry screamed to focus on himself. But the other portion, the majority, was telling him something else.

 

_Don’t let them hurt him. Stop him from gaining himself any more pain. Protect him._

 

“No, no, seriously Harry. I just think it’s funny that these idiots actually think that they’re smart threatening Iron Man, not to mention two of the most influential people in New York.” Harry saw the fist before Peter did, and he wished he could have taken it instead, because the way Peter looked with a black eye made his stomach turn in anger.

 

“You don’t learn, huh?” Another hit, none of the blows were open handed now, and Harry was twisting in his man’s hold. “You gotta keep poking the bear, don’t look so surprised,” Peter could barely emote through the smears of blood and swelling in his eye and split lip. “You should’ve expected this kinda reaction, ‘specially after the tough guy act.” One of the other men had joined in. Granted, his attack was more half-hearted, he didn’t even extend the effort to get down to Peter’s level, only throwing a few well-aimed kicks into the fray and grinning when he heard the resultant gasps and bit back cries.

 

“Get off him, he’s done!” Harry pleaded, squirming when the man holding him back took a few steps away in case he managed to get close enough to Peter to save him.

 

“Shut the hell up, you’re not the big-ticket item here Osborn,” one of the men yelled over the sound of fists and boots hitting ribs.

 

“No, but I can be if you just give me a goddamn minute to talk to my father!” The man who was on top of Peter hesitated, his head quirking up to where Harry stood. “Fourteen. Norman will pay fourteen million, double what you wanted from Peter’s Dad.” The man’s eyes narrowed, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from struggling again as he heard the way Peter was coughing wetly, the blood from his nose running down to his lips. “Just get off him and get my video over with, then you’ll be paid whatever the hell you want.”

 

It was as if the men were considering the offer, but once they stepped away from Peter, Harry let out the breath he had been holding.

 

“Take this one back to the holding room while we finish up here.” Harry was pushed forward and for a moment, as the man holding him let go to hoist Peter back up onto his feet, he could see how much damage had really been done.

 

Peter’s nose wasn’t broken, but it was dripping blood. There was a cut over his cheekbone and a rapidly forming bruise. The skin surrounding his right eye was almost completely black from the bruising and he clutched at his torso where the kicks had been aimed. Peter was glaring at the man as he held his arms behind his back and began to walk him off.

 

Harry opened his mouth to say _something_ , but nothing came out, and then Peter was already out of sight.

 

\----

 

Peter’s entire body throbbed with a deep ache, he limped awkwardly and winced each time he blinked, his right eye barely opened enough for him to see.

 

“You know, for the son of a genius, you’re pretty stupid,” the man said with an amused tone, as if he found the injuries over Peter’s skin entertaining.

 

“You’d be surprised,” Peter growled, freezing up and throwing his head backward until it connected with the man’s nose with a sickening crunch. There was a strangled shout of pain before Peter slammed his foot down on the man’s boot, which had left prints along the teen’s ribs only minutes beforehand.

 

“You’re dead kid,” the man hissed, clutching his nose which, unlike Peter’s, was definitely broken. Before the boy could run, the man wrapped his elbow over his throat, pinning him against his own body. “Wanna breathe?” He asked, grinning as Peter scratched at his arms, “then _walk_.”

 

The man tightened his arm in warning and Peter stumbled forward, his lungs beginning to burn with the lack of oxygen. He bucked uselessly, but the man still managed to push him forward into the room, sending a kick to his knee to bring him down. “You can stay in here and shut the hell up,” Peter kept his glare plastered across his face until the door swung shut, then he slumped, gingerly wiping away the congealed blood from his nose.

 

He rolled onto his back and lightly prodded the areas that stung the most, trying to get a feel for how badly they would bruise. He groaned and pushed himself back onto his hands and knees, taking a long pause to breathe in and out, trying to figure out whether he was merely bruised, or if the men actually managed to break something.

 

“Ah, ah, ow,” he hissed as he moved to the back wall in the corner and curled up, still running his fingers over the shallow cut over his cheekbone. There wasn’t any noise, but his head was throbbing which made the blood pulsate in his ears.

 

He blinked, suddenly taking into account how exhausted he felt. The exertion of kicking and slapping at all the men dragging him into the trunk of the car had sucked away majority of his energy, and the beating he just received stole the rest of it.

 

Peter wasn’t sure how long it took for him to slip into a restless and jumpy sleep, he also didn’t know how long his eyes were closed for. He blinked hazily, his eye still pounding angrily as the bruise assumingly worsened with time and looked up as something moved at the other end of the room.

 

It took Peter a moment to register that the door was what had been moving, and as he saw a blurry, dark haired figure, just taller than him, being shoved through the doorway, he slightly uncurled from his position on the floor. He blinked rapidly until Harry swam into focus, and Peter was surprised to see that he wasn’t injured to the same degree that he had been.

 

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Peter bit angrily as he forced his aching body to move over to where his cellmate was. He glared at the man in the doorway who was observing Harry as he picked himself up from where he had been dumped.

 

“But videos to your parents are so much fun,” the man replied, snarking right back at Peter whose eyebrows lowered at the thought of how terrified his Dad would be, seeing him as a hostage, bloodied and bruised.

 

Peter curled an arm out, hovering it over Harry’s back, contemplating whether or not to just drop it around his waist and help him walk. Before he could decide, the other boy was already moving, either not noticing, or choosing to ignore the un-acted upon gesture.

 

“Stop encouraging him,” Harry told Peter as he stood and limped over to where he had previously been in the corner. The teen sat a few feet away, not against the opposite corner of the wall, not next to where Peter curled up, but in between the two. “They just want to work you up, ignore it.” The door shut, leaving the two on their own for however long the men thought was appropriate.

 

“Did they hurt you?” Peter asked, his voice quieter than when he had spoken to the guard. Harry thought he may have seen a spark of worry in his eyes, but he pushed aside the possibility as soon as it cropped up.

 

“Just the usual, nothing like what you got.” Peter was eyeing him, sweeping his eyes up and down each visible part of Harry’s skin, checking for wounds. “You shouldn’t have said anything,” he reprimanded lightly, no heat behind his words, unlike how angry he had been when Peter was first pushed into their cell.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter admitted timidly, looking at his hands and nervously wiping them on his pants. “I, uh - I didn’t mean for your Dad to have to pay more.” Harry quirked his eyebrow, he didn’t care about how much of a dent his kidnappings made in his father’s bank account, he had stopped caring the same day he was told off for being taken against his will. “You didn’t have to do that,” Peter continued, his voice quiet and cheeks tinged a slightly darker shade.

 

“I didn’t _have_ to, but I did.” He frowned at the floor, hating his mouth for speaking without his permission, “I didn’t like seeing you hurt, I didn’t like watching them hurt you.” Peter looked up from his hands and his eyes caught the light. Harry had never looked at Peter’s eyes, he had never even known what colour they were.

 

Peter’s father had never signed him up or accepted requests to have him partake in photo shoots or speak to the press, so there weren’t many ‘high quality’ pictures of him out there, or at least, not high quality enough to really see his eyes.

 

When the light caught them, they were a soft hazel, wide, endearing, innocent. But he could also see the flickers of protective instincts and anger when he caught the fingerprint bruises over Harry’s wrist.

 

“They did that?” He asked, his head tilting more in Harry’s direction so that the light wasn’t highlighting his eyes anymore. They were darker, a cooler brown shade, closer to oak or chestnut.

 

_No, no they didn’t. These are everyday bruises that never get the chance to fade… but you don’t need to know that._

 

“Yeah, why do you ca - ah - uhm…” Harry’s rhetorical question was cut off when Peter moved into his field of space, his throat tightening as a small noise of shock escaped. Peter grabbed his hand without waiting for a ‘go ahead’ from Harry, but he did pause before rolling up the boy’s sleeve. His eyes glanced up, meeting Harry’s, which were already locked onto Peter’s face.

 

Harry looked away and shrugged nonchalantly. Peter’s fingers were hovering so close to his skin that he felt the warmth. He ground his teeth together as the sleeve was pushed up, faded yellows and pastel green smears covered his upper arm and Peter’s eyes turned darker than Harry thought possible. He saw the way the brunette’s lips parted as he exhaled slowly, how his nose crinkled like his eyebrows as he concentrated on the bruising and worked something out in his head.

 

“These are old,” he whispered evenly, his eyes remaining dark.

 

“There was another one of… these,” Harry waved his hand, gesturing to the room, “a few weeks ago.” Peters fingers tightened minutely, enough that his grip felt secure, protective, very unlike the vice like threat of the abuser who left the bruises in the first place.

 

“Okay,” Peter relented quietly, his hold loosening before falling away completely, leaving Harry almost colder without the connection of skin on skin contact without the intent to harm. “I thought you said these,” Peter flopped his hand in roughly the same gesture as Harry, it was almost adorable in a way, “only happened once or twice a year?”

 

“And I thought you said ‘okay,’ like we were done with the conver…” Harry caught himself, hating how bitter he sounded, how demeaning he could have been coming across to the teen who was genuinely trying to be kind. “Sorry,” he said flatly, wishing he could scrounge up as much emotion in his voice as Peter could. “It does happen once or twice a year… just not normally this close together, I guess.”

 

Peter nodded, picking up the not so subtle hints that Harry didn’t want the conversation to continue. Inside, he was dying to ask why the last hostage situation Harry had been thrust into wasn’t leaked by the media, as it always was, but he kept his mouth shut.

 

“You know… every time I saw that you had been through another one of these, I - I uh… I wished there was something I could do to help.” Peter looked back down at his hands, fiddling with them as his cheeks darkened even more. “I don’t want you… um, your Dad I mean, to have to pay more. It wouldn’t be fair.” Harry tilted his own chin upwards, silently telling himself off for liking the way he could see the blush tinting Peter’s face.

 

“Why wouldn’t it be fair? Look how hurt you are, look at how fine I am.”

 

“That’s not… not what I meant. I mean, Stark Industries has a net worth of twenty point three billion, and Oscorp only has three point one, so how could it be fair for you to have to pay… pay more than…” Peter trailed off, his eyes lingering on Harry’s as he observed the way the darker haired boy’s face changed from neutral to an amused smile. “What?” Peter asked incredulously.

 

“Nothing…” Harry lied, lifting his hands in a placating gesture, “just, why do you have Stark and Oscorp Industries’ net worth memorised to the decimal point?” If it was possible, Peter flushed deeper.

 

“I might’ve… Googled you,” he admitted softly, turning his face away in a show of timidity. Harry flushed slightly, but he concealed it well enough. “Only because I was looking for a specific interview you did, not because I was meaning to, I don’t know… fan-girl you or whatever.” Harry laughed suddenly, causing Peter to look up.

 

“Fan-girl? You know people only do that stuff over celebrities, right?” Peter smiled back shyly.

 

“You are a celebrity,” he said simply, taking Harry by surprise. “Everyone loves you, you’re like the teenage girl whisperer… or - or guy… I don’t know if you even li -”

 

“I do,” Harry cut off, his voice low.

 

_No, you’re not Harold. Don’t you dare get ideas like that in your head, and don’t even think about releasing any of that to the press, or anyone who asks for that matter. The heir to Oscorp is not gay, he will never be gay, so you better stop acting like you know who you are._

 

“I - I think I do too,” Peter whispered, his voice dropping low like Harry’s. And, without more than those five words from Peter’s mouth, Harry’s heckles unconsciously lowered, and he relaxed more under the pressure inside his head. “But besides,” Peter continued, sensing that the weight of the topic they had just drifted into was one that Harry may not particularly enjoy delving into, “it doesn’t matter the net worth or how much more or less we were both hurt. What matters is the fact that this is probably your hundredth kidnapping, and this is my first.”

 

“Exactly,” Harry pressed, smiling again, like he knew he had just won the argument. “I’ve been through these heaps, I know the drill by now. You’re all new to this, you must be terrified by all the threats and th -”

 

As if to exemplify Harry’s point, Peter tensed as the lights were suddenly shut off, leaving the two in complete darkness.

 

Harry could still hear Peter’s soft breaths, he could almost imagine the faint outline of the smaller boy only a few inches away from his body, and as his eyes slowly adjusted to the new darkness, he found himself missing the view he had of Peter’s eyes in the light.

 

“Terrified by all the threats and darkness?” Peter filled in Harry’s blank and cut-off sentence, and they could both recognise the humour in his voice.

 

“Did you really Google me?” Harry asked after a moment of silence between the two. He wanted to see Peter’s face, he wanted to take in every movement and quirk which someone else might overlook.

 

“Y - yeah… just ‘cus the interview you did with uh, what was it? I think it was -”

 

“The one where they basically asked me what it was like being thrust into the public eye since birth?” Harry saw the faintest outline of Peter nodding, and he wished he could have gotten more detail, enough to see his curls flopping against his forehead. “You know…” he started unsurely, “if you wanted to watch that because being ‘a celebrity,’ as you put it, is all new to you, why don’t you just ask me what you needed to know?” He gently leaned in, his knee bumping Peter’s, casing the brunette to inhale quietly.

 

“Because I was scared, I didn’t - I don’t know you… and the media was already kinda… comparing us.” Peter’s knee shifted, brushing against where Harry’s arm was supporting his body, the lightest touch of fabric danced across his wrist as Peter readjusted, folding his legs closer to himself yet not leaning away at all.

 

“The media is comprised of a bunch of news reporters that scramble for the faintest hint of gossip or scandals in the world of ‘celebrities.’ They completely made all of that stuff up about us, all of the articles about who wore it better and who’s more attractive, it’s shit. Utter and complete trash.” Harry paused, counting a few beats and focusing on Peter’s soft breaths coming from only inches away. “Besides, most of them were wrong anyway… well, at least the ones that implied you weren’t…” he paused again, thinking of a way to say, ‘really fucking attractive’ without coming off as so obviously amorous, “well off in the facial department.” Peter snorted amusedly, a tiny huff of humour.

 

“Well off in the facial department?” Peter repeated, laughing lightly as Harry took advantage of the fact that it was too dark to reveal his blush. “Why don’t you just say it Har? I’m a stunner,” he teased, the fabric of his jeans still softly brushing past Harry’s wrist every so often. Their smiles faded after a few moments of quiet amusement, and when the thick silence hung too heavily, Peter sighed tiredly and shuffled, pressing himself up against the wall. “What time do you think it is?” He asked, resting his chin on his knees and curling a little more into himself as he concealed a yawn.

 

“Not sure, maybe nine, ten at night? If they shut the lights off, maybe they’re hoping we’ll go to sleep, let our guards down or something.” Peter nodded sleepily, something Harry couldn’t see through the darkness. “Maybe one of us should stay awake while the other sleeps, in case they do actually want us to let our guard down.”

 

“I’ll take first watch!” Peter snapped, jolting up from the wall. Harry raised an eyebrow and assumed Peter could see it well enough, because he explained himself after a timid cough. “I uh… sorry, I’ve just heard that line in so many movies and this could be the only chance I actually get to say it.”

 

“So, you’re into pop culture, as well as science.” It wasn’t a question, more so a statement, and Peter shrugged. Harry shuffled, leaning back across the floor with his elbow under his neck, his feet facing the wall, and his head rested a few inches away from Peter’s hip. “You’ll wake me up when you’re tired, or if something happens?”

 

“Mhm,” Peter answered with a hum, clenching his fists against his jeans in an attempt to not think about how every time _he_ tried to fall asleep like Harry was, his Dad would rest his head against his lap and card fingers through his hair.

 

\----

 

“-rry? Harry? Har, hey. You awake yet?” Harry groaned and rubbed his left eye with his right hand, blinking when his opposite hand came out from under his neck, numb and tingling with pins and needles. “Harry?

 

“Huh? What are you… Peter?” He sat up, blinking sluggishly a few more times, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of his hand.

 

“Yep, Peter, that’s me.” Harry could see the outline of something in Peter’s hand, but he couldn’t place the rattling sound it made when the brunette shook it lightly. “They graced us with some food, slid it through the slot in the door and everything. Such good service around here,” he complained, shaking what Harry could now see was a rectangular box.

 

“Is that… what is that?” He asked, squinting at the package and reaching out to tilt it slightly, hoping to read what it was.

 

“Some kind of cereal I think? It must be, maybe Froot Loops or something generic, it’s unopened… so I doubt it's been tampered with at all.” Harry ran a finger over the sides of the box, and as Peter pointed out, the seal was unbroken, as was the plastic within. “Are you hungry?” He asked softly.

 

“Not for dry cereal that’s probably been sitting in someone's cupboard for over three months.” He picked open the plastic and pulled out what felt like a small donut shaped piece of cereal. “And yeah, I think you were right. Definitely Froot Loops.” Peter heard a crisp noise as Harry assumingly crushed one of them with his teeth, and he sighed in distaste of the dry meal before reaching over to do the same.

 

They chewed in silence, their hands bumping a few times when they both reached into the box at the same time. Peter felt partly settled, now that the men had fed them, it seemed more likely that they wouldn’t come back before morning. Harry was less relaxed, considering the fact that he knew how much trouble he would be in for managing to “ _get yourself kidnapped again, Harold_.”

 

“ _Well I’m sorry it’s such an inconvenience for you when I’m the one getting held hostage.” A pain in his cheek, sharp and simple, one he knew he deserved for an outburst like that._

 

Harry bristled when he felt a finger against his hand, flinching minutely until he realised it was Peter, he settled quickly. “You should sleep,” he pried, nudging Peter’s arm with his elbow and watching the silhouette fumbling to keep his handful of dry cereal from spilling.

 

“What are you, my mum?” Peter teased, tipping most of the handful into his mouth before flicking an absent Froot Loop at Harry. It hit his temple and fell to his shoulder, he perked an eyebrow and chewed slowly, his lip curling slightly as he did.

 

“Having fun?” Harry asked dryly, a grin spreading across his face for a moment as Peter leaned against his shoulder to reach into the box for more loops.

 

“Mhm,” Peter mumbled softly, his eyes drooping as he realised how comfortable he was in that moment, his fist deep into a cereal box, his side pressed against someone he assumed was a rival, and the throbbing of his bruises beginning to weaken as he yawned. “Although,” he began as he forced himself to lean back against the wall, trying to break the contact before it got weird, “our Dads could show up any second and knowing mine, he’ll probably bring the sui -”

 

“They’re sending the videos tomorrow morning, nothing else interesting is happening tonight, so go to sleep. If you sleep now, I can get a third rotation in,” he pressed, pushing the cereal out of the way and watching as Peter spread out on his side, an elbow under his head as he concealed a second yawn.

 

“Night Har,” Peter murmured.

 

“Yeah, night,” Harry responded evenly, pretending his ears weren’t tuning into the pattern of Peter’s breathing without his conscious decision to do so.


	2. Who Said Helicopter Parenting Was A Bad Thing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irondad busts in, does his thing - meets Norman Osborn's kid for the first time. All in all, it's a pretty good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

It was four forty-seven and Peter wasn’t home from school yet. The final bell was supposed to ring at three thirty. It had been an hour, well over the time Peter would normally have gotten home by, especially on the days where he took the subway.

 

Tony was a relatively worried parent, he could admit that, mostly thanks to years of Rhodey calling him a ‘bubble wrap’ parent. It was a good thing, he thought, or at least it was helpful for things small and solvable, a fever, bullies, but not a missing son.

 

He had left eighteen voice messages and Peter’s phone couldn’t be tracked, it was clearly turned off or destroyed.

 

“What have you gotten yourself into this time, kid?” Tony sighed, running an anxious hand through his hair and clenching his fists to stop them from quivering along with his frayed nerves. “I really don’t need more grey hairs from you,” he said to Peter’s icon on his phone as he clicked off the nineteenth voice mail he had left.

 

“Tony, your meeting is n –”

 

“Push it back,” he said quietly, waving his hand at Rhodey and knowing his friend understood.

 

“Yeah, I figured, I’ll go let the staff know.” Tony smiled appreciatively, nodding his head once.

 

“Okay, I just… I’ll just call the school again, watch more of the subway footage, see if he ever – if he ever made it there…” He looked down at his lap, picking at the broken remnants of a pen he had taken apart in his anxious state.

 

“Settle in, Tones. Pete’s a good kid, he’ll be okay.” Rhodey squeezed his shoulder once, an unreadable expression on his face.

 

\---- 4:32 AM ----

 

FRIDAY blared with an email from an unknown source, Tony had updated the A.I’s alert system as soon as he realised the possibility of a ransom message being sent.

 

“Shit!” Tony screamed, snapping up from where he was leaning against his hand, painstakingly watching hours of subway footage in real time. He cursed quietly, turning in his chair to hurriedly slam his hand against the facial recognition setting, waiting for FRIDAY to let him know whether the video was worth watching.

 

“Facial recognition has come back positive for Peter Stark, Harold Osborn and two unknown males, sir.” Tony hit the desk with his elbow in his rush to open the video file. It was addressed to both him _and_ Norman Osborn.

 

“What the hell,” he murmured to himself, watching the loading icon as it spun in pinwheels. The screen was black for a moment, he heard a rustle and then, what must have been a finger, moved off the lens and the screen flooded with the image of Tony’s son.

 

He wasn’t visibly hurt, but at the least he looked shaken. His hair was sticking out in different directions, a defiant expression clouding his normally bright features. A large man with a heavy gut and squared shoulders ignored the camera, shifting his weight onto his opposite foot and raising an arm.

 

Tony winced before the back of the man’s hand slapped across Peter’s cheek. A small, disgruntled gasp escaped from the teen, but it was overshadowed by the man’s insult.

 

“ _Brat_.”

 

Tony saw red against his son’s cheek when the man moved to grip his wrist, roughly hauling him forwards towards the camera as he spoke. “Stark, you listen to us, because I’m not pissing around.”

 

He practically growled as a fist tangled in Peter’s hair and tugged downward, forcing the boy’s red cheek to face the ceiling and expose his neck. “Do you know how easy this pretty throat would be to slit?” The man asked in a mockery of suspense, dragging and dancing his fingers lightly across the small dotted freckles across Peter’s neck. “Wouldn’t take me more than thirty seconds, but I could make it last a lot longer if I wanted to.”

 

The man grinned, staring straight at the camera. Tony watched Peter, he saw his son’s eyes squeezing shut and noticed the angle of his jawline changing, his teeth clenching together as his whole body leaned away from the chest he was pinned up against. A small hiss was forced out of Peter’s lips as the fingers in his hair tightened, Tony could see his eyebrow twitch at what must have been the sharp pain.

 

“Dad,” Peter began, arching his back and grunting as he looked at the camera. “You don’t need to do anything they sa-”

 

He was cut off as the camera jolted and another figure rushed into the frame. Tony swore quietly as the second man drove his fist into Peter’s stomach, winding him. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged at it angrily, he didn’t want to keep watching but he knew he had to, for Peter’s sake.

 

Peter was a lot stronger than Tony gave him credit for, and it was demonstrated pretty clearly as he shuffled, tilting his chin up and staring down the man who had just landed the hit. “He’s no - not gonna do what y - you want.” He gasped, glaring at the man with his dark brown eyes. “You’re too sloppy, he’s probably already in the suit on his w - way right now.”

 

Tony winced, he hated how much undeserved faith Peter had in him, especially when Tony was sat at his desk at four-thirty in the morning, watching his son being beaten with zero clue of how to save him.

 

He sighed as one of the men was shoved out of frame, although the relief was short-lived. Peter was thrown to the ground, one of the men clambering on top of him and keeping his wrists pinned. Tony had to physically hold back a growl as he watched the man squeezing Peter’s cheeks roughly.

 

“You keep your fucking mouth _shut._ Got it, kid?” He tightened his fists and saw the look in Peter’s eyes, he clearly didn’t like the epithet either, ‘kid’ was something Tony and _only_ Tony was allowed to call him.

 

“Yes, _shit_ I get it,” Peter snapped angrily, grunting as he was tugged back to his feet and shook roughly. 

 

“You see this?” The first man asked as Peter was shaken back and forth in emphasis. The man stared right into the camera, his eyes burning into Tony’s. “This is what happens every few hours until we get the hard cash, and every hour you don’t show up with a bag of seven million, we up it by another ten-thousand and he gets another bruise.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. He’d pay billions to make sure nobody put their filthy hands near his kid. Underestimating a father’s love for his son was one of the greatest mistakes a kidnapper could make. Tony would willingly light the world on fire if it meant he could keep Peter safe, tucked away at his side.

 

But instead he was watching someone pressing far too close into Peter’s space and tilting his chin upwards towards the camera. “A bruise, or _worse_. Hope you understand Stark, wouldn’t want you to be too broke to pay for the hospital fees.”

 

Peter jerked his head away from the man’s fingers and bared his teeth angrily. His eyes hardened stubbornly, and Tony dropped his head into his hands 

 

“Screw you,” he bit venomously, “you’re seriously trying to threaten Iron Man? I hope you regret it as much as I already pity you.”

 

“Peter, _don’t._ ” Someone urged from off-camera. Tony tilted his head in confusion as he observed the way Peter seemed to be communicating with his eyes. The voice had sounded young, about the same as Peter if not slightly older, or perhaps just deeper toned.

 

“No, no, seriously Harry. I just think it’s funny that these idiots actually think that they’re smart threatening Iron Man, not to mention two of the most influential people in New York.”

 

So, that’s who Peter was speaking to off camera – Norman Osborn’s son. Tony pursed his lips unhappily, Norman was bad news. He was an absolute asshole and he hated the monthly meetings their companies had to have. Tony couldn’t imagine his rivals son being much different of a person, seeing as he was raised by Norman.

 

He looked back up at the screen and blanched as he saw Peter weakly blocking fists and feet raining down on him. He looked around, his body rushing with adrenaline despite the fact that there was nothing he could do from where he was, Peter had already been hurt, there was no changing that.

 

“Get off him, he’s done!” Harry yelled, his voice cracking slightly. 

 

“Shut the hell up, you’re not the big-ticket item here Osborn,” one of the men yelled as he continued grappling with Peter and making sure to keep his wrists pinned against the cement floor. Peter cried out as he bucked his hips, trying to dislodge the man who was sat atop him.

 

“No, but I can be if you just give me a goddamn minute to talk to my father!” Harry was shouting now, Tony could hear the sound of shoes scuffing against the ground. He wondered whether Harry might have had more of a heart then he expected from the son of his biggest rival. 

 

The man straddling Peter kept his fist at his side as he looked up at where Harry must have been standing. “Fourteen. Norman will pay fourteen million, double what you wanted from Peter’s Dad.” Tony blew out a breath, silently slumping as the last man lowered his fist.

 

Peter coughed from where he was sprawled beneath the man, blood tricked from his nose and he spluttered slightly as it dripped over his lips. He tried to roll over to dislodge the blood pooling over his face, but the man sitting on him was heavy and didn’t seem eager to lift off the scrawny teen pinned beneath him.

 

Tony heard a frustrated rumble from the other teen off camera, from the sounds of the heavy breathing, it seemed as though he must have been putting up a fight for whoever was holding him back. “Just get off him and get my video over with, then you’ll be paid whatever the hell you want,” Harry demanded.

 

Tony watched as the man sitting on Peter straightened up, turned to the camera and nodded. A few seconds later, the screen went black.

 

Tony let out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold throughout the video, he laid a hand across his chest and rubbed the other over his stubble frustratedly.

 

Harry’s video had been attached in the message as well, but Tony felt wrong watching another child’s ransom video, even if the man was Norman Osborn. He merely had FRIDAY extract some crucial information from the clip and report back to him.

 

“Mr. Osborn’s ransom demand was fourteen million, although his does not have any specific time frame as Peter’s did. I also did a scan for Peter Stark, and his face was not recognised as present in this recording.” Tony nodded weakly, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples as he thought.

 

“Contact Norman, as much as I hate to say it, we’re going to need to work together on this one.” The admittance tasted like bile on Tony’s tongue, but then again, the sight of his son bloodied and bruised was far worse of an aftertaste.

 

\---- 8:47 AM ----

 

Norman didn’t respond until eight in the morning, he had no alert on Harry’s ransom video, so of course he hadn’t been worried when his son never made it home.

 

Tony was stood outside of a drop point box with Norman a few steps away, his arms were folded, and he looked absolutely furious as he watched Tony drop a cheque of the ransom money.

 

“Are you…” Tony arched his brow, watching Norman standing in place, making no move to pay.

 

“No. I’m not paying, they aren’t going to kill him. It’s a bluff.” Tony frowned, it surprised him that another father would be willing to risk his son’s life. “Your kid has no self-preservation.” He snapped his head up and glared.

 

“You watched Peter’s ransom video?” He asked stiffly, his eyes hardening. Norman shrugged nonchalantly, not showing much remorse. “That wasn’t necessary. You watched my son being hurt for what reason exactly?”

 

“I don’t know, it could have had information on where they were or something. I think you need to get it through your head sooner rather than later, _Stark_ , that your son isn’t living a private life anymore.” Tony glared ferociously. “Everything he says and does will be picked apart and put on display. I won’t be surprised if today’s paper has his kidnapping as the headline.”

 

“Shut up,” Tony snapped. “You don’t get to talk about the way I parent. You’ve had your son in the spotlight for years, so stay out of this.” Norman arched a brow at him and clicked his tongue.

 

“At least Harold has had enough experience to know when to keep his mouth shut.” He shot back coolly.

 

Tony couldn’t help but bare his teeth and grunt angrily. He glared at Norman, staring directly into his eyes and watching his face morph into fury as he bit back.

 

“At least I haven’t been accused of beating my son,” he spat. Norman went silent, his teeth grating against each other.

 

“That headline was taken offline. The company was sued for defamation,” Norman argued. “That’s redundant, nobody had any proof that I –” He shifted on his feet and looked to the left nervously, Tony frowned. “Who’s he?” The mechanic turned to look at a large man with a dark leather jacket stepping out of a car and moving towards them. Tony eyed his fists, the knuckles were slightly reddened, there was a scratch against his palm.

 

“The cheques,” the man said curtly, nodding towards the two fathers.

 

“I’m sorry?” Tony asked, staring up at the man without fear.

 

“I want the money, for the boys.” Norman looked calm, as if it was all part of a routine, whereas Tony stiffened up and growled.

 

“Where the hell is he? What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Tony exploded, darting forward and grabbing the front of the man’s jacket, shaking him with his lips peeled back in a snarl. He lasted a few seconds before he was shoved backwards roughly.

 

“All I have to do is say one word and there’ll be a knife against their throats, so back they hell off, stay out of it and nobody needs to get their throat slit.” Tony straightened up and watched the man snatching up the cheque. “Where yours?” He asked Norman, looking unamused when the man held up his hands as if he didn’t know.

 

“I’m not paying fourteen million bucks,” he mumbled. The man in the leather jacket pondered for a moment before sending something over his phone and moving back towards his car.

 

“Look forward to a hospital bill just as big, Osborn.” The man sneered before revving his engine and taking an illegal U-turn before speeding off.

 

The two billionaires stood in silence for a moment before Tony turned around with a smirk on his face.

 

“Stupid idiot thinks I’m not smart enough to save my own kid,” he fumbled with his phone for a minute before bringing up a location. “Tracker,” he said to Norman, “it’s on the inside of his jacket. So now I’ll be going and saving both my son and yours, because you clearly care so much about your son’s wellbeing.”

 

Norman rolled his eyes and watched Tony pressing a comm line into his ear and talking to someone called FRIDAY. “Suit please. And track the location on my phone too.”

 

\----

 

Harry woke up with something bright burning the front of his eyelids. He groaned and shifted further down the wall. The light was seeping in under the door, so he assumed there must have been a window directly outside of it, in the hall.

 

He rolled his head to the side and flinched when he saw something moving. He blinked wearily before realising it was Peter. His chest was rising and falling evenly, his head was rested on his elbows, face turned towards Harry. The light was tinting his hair and eyelashes a light amber, his features were softer in sleep, his eyebrows less drawn with anxiety, his lips slightly parted as he breathed in and out.

 

Peter’s hair had fluffed up overnight, it had been out of place since he was dragged around by it the night before, but now the light was hitting it at odd angles and making it look like an invitation.

 

And _shit_ , maybe Harry did want to reach out and brush the stray curls from Peter’s face, but he wouldn’t.

 

“ _Boys don’t like boys, Harold. Get it through your head_.”

 

He wouldn’t shift his hand three inches to his side, just so he could rest his palm against the nest of fluff that their kidnappers had tugged at less than several hours beforehand. He wouldn’t, not now and not after the hostage situation had blown over. He didn’t get the freedom to date who he wanted to date. That was a fact of life for an Osborn.

 

Without warning, Peter’s nose scrunched as he made a small noise of sleep and shifted his cheek onto the opposite hand. Harry bit back the small smile on his face when Peter’s eyelids fluttered open. He could see as Peter’s pupils adjust to the light shining directly across his eyes, the teen blinked and shifted once more.

 

“W’s I supposed to be on watch?” He grumbled tiredly, tilting his chin up and looking at Harry dazedly. _How the hell did he manage to make tired look good_?

 

“No, you’re good,” he answered quietly, the smile coming back when Peter seemed to slump in relief. “How’s your… uh… your everything?” He waved a hand over Peter’s body, focusing on his face to emphasise how bruised he still was. The brunette laughed with an amused huff and propped himself up against the wall, closer to Harry.

 

“Just swell, man.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and looked across at Harry, his bruised cheeks still managing to conjure up a slight flush. Neither of them seemed to want to talk about how close they had sat the night before, although they couldn’t forget the occasional brush of clothing against clothing and Peters hand over Harry’s wrist.

 

The two of them let the silence mingle on slightly before the tell-tale sound of an engine and wheels over gravel made itself known. It was distant and heavily muffled, but the two of them could pick up on a door slamming and someone yelling faintly.

 

“ _I don’t care… get the tall one out here, his father needs to be put in his place for not coughing up_.”

 

Peter tensed and turned to see Harry hanging his head and scrunching his eyes up as if he knew how royally screwed he was.

 

“Asshole,” he murmured as he shook his head and clenched his fists. Peter looked up at him with worried eyes. “He just… sometimes Norman doesn’t pay,” Harry admitted grimly. Peter bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something disrespectful.

 

“I’m sorry,” he settled with. His fingers twitched at his side when he briefly considered reaching over and reassuring the taller boy with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“What for?” Harry asked, looking to his side where Peter was sat.

 

“He had to pay double then my Dad. I can’t help but feel like he would have paid if it wasn’t so much money.” Peter flinched as footsteps began pounding down the hall towards their cell.

 

“Osborn!” A voice bellowed, a fist clanged against the door with a jolt. “Your father needs more _persuading_.” Harry looked up and jerked his head to the side as he felt Peter’s hand grabbing his elbow.

 

“Don’t fight,” he urged worriedly. He looked agitated, his fingers squeezing slightly and making Harry’s heart beat a little faster. “I – I don’t know how to get out of thi –”

 

“It’s not your responsibility. I’ll be fine.” The _I’ve dealt with worse_ went unsaid. Peter still stared at him anxiously, he looked like a kicked puppy. Harry opened his mouth to assure him again, but the grinding of locks being torn away cut him off as the door was pushed open.

 

“On your feet,” a stocky man in a leather jacket demanded. Harry stood, keeping still enough to qualify as non-threatening. He heard Peter hissing through his teeth as he stood, he felt his stance becoming more rigid and tried to calm himself down. They wanted him, not Peter. “You,” the man began, “have a neglectful prick as a father.” He stepped forward, crossing the space and lifting a hand. “He needs to be put in his place,” a finger jabbed Harry’s chest and the man sneered.

 

“Then beat _him_ up, not his kid.” Peter snapped, his face twisting in pain as he stood fully, his back straightening. The man’s gaze flickered over to Peter, his sneer intensifying.

 

“You should learn to keep your mouth shut, Stark.” Peter’s brows lowered in response to the insult. “Unless you’re ready for another video, zip it.” Peter opened his mouth to shoot something back at the man, but a metallic clang cut him off.

 

Harry frowned in confusion, the man didn’t twitch, but Peter paused before his face stretched into a grin and he threw his head back and laughed.

 

“We’re not the ones being taught a lesson,” he said happily. Harry turned and looked at him as if he had a concussion. He winced as the man moved bodily to face him. He looked fed up, and Harry couldn’t help but throw his arm out and shove Peter backward, blocking him as best he could.

 

Harry wasn’t bold enough to admit that when Peter grabbed his hand – his hand, not his wrist like before – and locked their fingers, only to tug him back against the wall so they were huddled together, he might have gone slightly lightheaded.

 

“Pete, what are y –” The shorter teen shook his head and dropped down, pulling Harry with him. Peter turned his face away and Harry didn’t have to wait long before he knew exactly why Peter had ushered them to cover.

 

A blue beam of light slammed into the man who had spun around, he was thrown back against the wall with a pained grunt. The bulky door flew across the cell immediately afterward and left several cracks in the cement.

 

“You think,” a metallic voice grit, “that you have the right,” the man on the floor scrabbled frantically as a metal suit began crossing the room, “to hurt _my_ kid?!” The man wheezed as he was picked up by the throat and hurled across the other side of the room again, his body making a painful screech as it skidded and rolled down the hallway.

 

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Harry hissed quietly. He looked over to see Peter smiling, despite the split lip and bloody cut above his eyebrow.

 

The suit, now apparently satisfied with the groaning from the hall, made a soft whirring noise before the front half popped open with a click.

 

“Dad,” Peter breathed out, squeezing past Harry and the wall to dart across the room and fall on his knees as Tony – _The_ Tony Stark – caught him in his arms.

 

“Hey, buddy.” The mechanic cupped the back of Peter’s head, his fingers clutching the shorter curls at the nape of the teen’s neck as he rested his chin overtop. “You scared the shit outta me,” Tony muttered, his arms tensing as he held his son a little tighter.

 

Harry couldn’t help but watch as not only a father touched his son with the intention of affection rather than discipline, but as somebody else got to tangle their fingers through the fluffed-up curls Harry had stared at that same morning. He extinguished the jealousy as soon as he felt the flame threatening to light.

 

His shoes scuffed the floor as he stood, and there was the familiar whine of a repulsor which Peter hurriedly slapped away as it was instinctively raised by FRIDAY, who must have been operating the now empty suit.

 

“ _Sorry_ , sorry Har.” Peter winced, twisting in Tony’s arms to point at Harry. “That’s Harry, he’s – he’s… really cool.” Peter smiled, a warm look crossing his bruised face. “He’s been through all of this before,” he continued, a sympathetic expression clouded Tony’s face and he almost looked like he was about to say something, but he closed his lips and just settled for nodding at the other teen.

 

“Mr. Stark,” Harry greeted with a polite nod. Peter grinned wider and exchanged a look with his father, who seemed to soften slightly.

 

“You can call me Tony, kid.” Harry nodded once more. He stared down at his feet and shuffled self-consciously. He felt out of place with Peter curled against Tony’s chest, and an arm draped around his shoulders protectively. “Are you hurt?” There was a lingering silence before Harry glanced up and realised Tony had been talking to _him_.

 

“Uh, no – no… I’m alright, nothing major.” Tony’s eyes gave him a once-over, Harry couldn’t help but pull his sleeves further down out of habit. _Too many bruises_. “Peter had the worst of it,” he said quietly.

 

“I’m okay,” Peter interjected as Tony turned to fret over him. His face crinkled in obvious concern and his hand reached up to rub away a smear of congealed blood in Peter’s hairline. “Dad, I’m _fine_ , it’s okay.” He laughed softly as Tony tilted Peter’s face left and right, frowning and cursing quietly when he surveyed the damage. “Everything is fine, one of my ribs hurts a little, yeah… but other than that I’m all good.”

 

“You’re a horrible liar,” Tony complained, shifting to help Peter to his feet. He blatantly glared, with little heat, when Peter winced as he stood. He kept a hand hovered near Peter’s shoulders as they began moving towards the door. “Norman’s outside, he’s there behind the barriers with the press.”

 

“The… the press?” Peter asked nervously. Tony slowed, he turned and wrapped an arm over the teen’s shoulders and pulled him into an embrace.

 

“Hey, _hey_ , buddy.” Tony knew the look on Peter’s face, it was the same one he had before the press, the same anxiety that flooded into his brown eyes the first time they were swarmed by the paparazzi after school. The way his lip trembled when he showed Tony the nail indents after he was grabbed for an interview when him and Tony walked out of a restaurant. “Happy is right out front, okay? I tried keeping the press out of this, but… they managed to catch wind and now they’re flocking like vultures.”

 

Harry saw Peter’s body language change, originally, he seemed to be lax and open, probably in order to convince Tony that he wasn’t really that hurt, but after the press had been brought up, he seemed to shrink. His shoulders pinched, and his hand blindly trailed out to the side until he was holding his father’s arm and using him as a crutch.

 

“I’ll go out first,” Harry offered, smiling as Peter ducked his head and whispered his thanks. The hall was long, and the three had to walk through the room where the videos had been taken, and Peter squeezed Tony’s arm as he saw the unconscious men scattered around the sides of the room. The largest man, the one who had touched Peter’s throat in the ransom video, had both of his arms twisted at odd angles.

 

“I…” Peter trailed off before even getting a single word out as the three stopped just in front of the doors. He could hear a crowd; the lights of the camera flashes were already too much, and the door wasn’t even opened yet. “Can’t you just say I died or something?” Peter asked with a nervous laugh. Tony smiled with a glint of worry in his eyes.

 

“Well I mean, I could… but I’m not that good of an actor.” Peter groaned and leaned in, so his face was hidden against Tony’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay, just hide your face like we talked about, make sure you get straight to the car.” The mechanic peeled off his jacket, draping it over Peter’s shoulders and tucking the front over his head. “Done, they won’t even recognise you without those famous curls.” Peter looked up as he huffed, half-heartedly swatting at Tony’s arm.

 

“You’re the worst,” he complained, smiling despite himself and sighing heavily before pressing the slightest bit closer to Tony and speaking. “Okay, let’s get this over with I guess.”

 

Harry saw the tufts of curls at the base of Peter’s neck peeking out from under the jacket and he flushed mildly as he thought about how much he had wanted to drag his fingers through them. He shook the feeling away and stepped around the pair, putting his fingers around the door handle and casting a final glace behind him to make sure Peter was alright.

 

“Kid,” Tony began, “I’m sorry Norman didn’t come inside for you. He doesn’t exactly own a suit of armour… so that’s probably why he opted to hang back.” Harry smiled, an almost forced look on his face.

 

“It’s okay, Tony. He’s… he’s trying to stay out of the whole kidnapping for cash thing, it’s why he didn’t write the cheque like you did.” With Norman in the forefront of his mind, Harry pushed the handle down and shouldered open the door, completely missing the sympathetic and understanding look on Tony’s face as he did.

 

He was assaulted with an assort of cameras and microphones. Multiple men in suits and women in pencil skirts were pushing at the small barriers put up and hands were tapping his shoulders as multiple different voices begged for his attention at once.

 

“Harry! Can we get a stateme –”

 

“How long have you been in the hostage situa –”

 

“Camera to your left, give us a headliner, kid!”

 

“Could you describe the men who were respon –”

 

“ _Harold_.” The disappointed tone cut through the buzz of the reporters and interviewers, Harry felt the next pair of hands on his shoulders tighten and if he hadn’t trained himself to hide it for the cameras, he would have winced at the grip. “Are you alright, son?” Harry bit back the acidic look he would have shot Norman if it hadn’t been for the crowd, but he smiled tightly and looked up at him.

 

“I’m okay, thank you.” He grit the thanks out, knowing the press would assume he was thanking his father for paying the ransom demand, which he most certainly was _not_. Norman had given up on paying a few years ago, it was mostly just a game of waiting around for the NYPD to figure out where he was being kept and then putting on the face of a worried parent. _As if_.

 

The fingers tightened slightly as Harry picked up on the whisper between the shouts of the paparazzi.

 

“You’ve got an audience to answer, shape the story, follow our little structure and get it done.” Right, the structure, or alternatively, how to twist the story enough so that Norman could get some press points for being a caring father.

 

Smile. Thank your father. Pictures, pictures. Hide any injuries, old or new. Answer questions. Go home. Don’t get kidnapped next time.

 

Simple.

 

Harry couldn’t help but spare a glance behind him. He could see Tony closing a door and rushing to the opposite side of a car with blacked out windows. The suit, which had been keeping the crowd back, powered down and packed itself into a briefcase which Tony pulled onto his lap before shutting his own door.

 

He felt the fingers squeezing tighter on his shoulders and he shuddered, shifting backwards slightly.

 

“I’m just… I’ll be back,” Harry mumbled, slipping away from Norman and squirming through the crowd. He ducked under big cameras being aimed at Tony’s car, under a barrier keeping the others back. He walked faster as he saw the brake lights turning on. He couldn’t hear the engine over the crowd.

 

\----

 

Peter jolted as someone tapped his window. He shuffled a seat over and Tony frowned at the door. The barriers should have kept everyone at least three feet back from the car. He leant over Peter, giving his knee a reassuring squeeze as he pushed the door open, ready to give whatever reporter who had the guts to jump the barrier an earful.

 

When the door was opened, Tony opened his mouth to protest as a figure slipped into the car.

 

“Dad,” Peter started, grabbing his hand as he recognised the other teen. “Hey, Har.” The brunette smiled warmly at Harry, relaxing in his seat and letting Tony sit back up.

 

“If you ever need help with all this,” Harry said hurriedly, waving his hand in a sweeping gesture towards the crowd. He slipped a slip of paper onto Peter’s seat and gave a wary smile before stepping back out of the vehicle and hesitantly making his way back to Norman.

 

Peter turned back to look at his Dad, a flush dusting his cheeks and nose, a small curl hinting at the edges of his lips. He copied the number down into his phone, which Tony presented. He must have found it where the rest of Peter’s things were being kept by the men.

 

“You alright there, kiddo?” Tony smirked as he knocked on the partition and cued Happy to pull away from the clicking bulbs of the cameras and the desperate shouts from the reporters. Peter flushed a darker red and bowed his head to hide it as he nodded. “You’re looking a little red there, Pete. Anything I should know?” Tony looked over at Peter with a teasing look in his eyes.

 

“I – I don’t know… he’s… he’s nice,” Peter admitted shyly. Tony barked a short laugh.

 

“My god, kid. You’re so transparent.” Peter huffed indignantly and rolled his eyes at his Dad.

 

“Fine, I like him, he’s smart and nothing like what I’d expect from an Osborn. He’s different.” Tony quirked a brow at him. “I think he’d be a nice friend. That’s what I’m trying to say.” Tony’s face softened slightly, taking on a more serious look.

 

“Pete, you know that I wouldn’t mind in the slightest if you did like him… y’know, like _that_ , right?” Peter bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged unconfidently, shuffling in his seat. “I wouldn’t mind if you liked boys or girls or both, hell you could like nobody, and I wouldn’t mind. As long as you’re happy, buddy, that’s all I care about. Don’t forget that.” Peter looked up into Tony’s eyes and nodded, relaxing marginally at the weight off his chest.

 

“Thank you,” he said genuinely. “I guess… I’ve been thinking about that stuff for a bit, but I don’t really know what I am, or at least not enough to really… come out, if that makes sense.” Tony nodded in understanding and gave Peter a smile that said he understood, he was happy to wait for Peter to figure himself out.

 

“That’s cool, all I’m really focused on right now is getting you cleaned and patched up. You look like hell,” he laughed as Peter wiped dried blood from his nose and pouted.

 

“They better not have stained my shirt,” he grumbled. Tony huffed amusedly and pushed a curl back from Peter’s face to survey a bump just past his hairline.

 

“I feel like a stained shirt is the least of your problems, mister _I love to aggravate my kidnappers_.” Peter wrinkled his nose at Tony.

 

“I took it like a champ,” he said proudly as Happy pulled up into the garage.

 

“Technically, yes, although you wouldn’t have had to take any of it in the first place if you had just played nicely.” Peter rolled his eyes once more but still leaned against Tony as they got out of the car. “Can you walk alright?”

 

“No, you have to carry me, Dad,” Peter said sarcastically. “No, I’m fine. It’s just my knee.” Tony gave Peter an unreadable look that definitely said _so help me kid, I will carry you_ , before steering him towards the elevator and getting FRIDAY to send them up to the Med Bay.

 

“Right, lets get you sorted then, huh?” Tony ruffled Peter’s hair carefully, being sure to not aggravate the bumps.

 

\----

 

Peter came out of the Med Bay an hour later with a sling for his sprained wrist, a multitude of bandages, wraps, and bruises covered in the condensation from an ice pack. He had a mild dosage of pain meds, which also doubled as something which made him incredibly sleepy, so Tony wasn’t surprised when he found himself stretched out on the couch with a Stark Pad in his hands and a minorly passed-out kid sprawled across his lap.

 

He sighed heavily and switched the device off, resting his head back against the cushions. Tony lazily twirled one of Peter’s curls between two fingers, humming quietly to himself as he thought. He would need more precautionary measures in place, if Norman’s son had been in the public eye since birth and had been through hostage situations a multitude of times, that would mean Peter would experience a similar amount.

 

Peter huffed in his semi-sleep, turning his face into Tony’s hand and making a small, appeased sound as Tony laughed quietly and scratched the crown of his head gently.

 

“You should ask Harry if he’s going to the next expo with Norman or not. Who knows, kiddo, maybe he’ll be working backstage like you.” He felt Peter exhale slowly.

 

“Y’ve known H’rry for less th’n four hours and you’re alr’dy trying to set us up… Y’r such a helicopter parent.” Peter complained.

 

“And who decided that was a bad thing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	3. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony plays matchmaker and Norman's an asshole, as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
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> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

“Pete! Get out here, we’re gonna be _late_ late instead of fashionably late!” Tony tapped his dress shoe against the garage floor impatiently.

 

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry!” Peter scurried down the stairs, he had one hand in his curls – which he clearly had no time to gel down – and another gripping his shoe as he shoved it on his foot. The corner of his toothbrush stuck out of his mouth and he smiled sheepishly at Tony.

 

“My god, you’re such a mess, kiddo,” Tony huffed amusedly, watching Peter rinse out his mouth at the emergency chemical spill basin as he simultaneously tried to lace up his shoes. “Come on then,” he said through a poorly concealed laugh as Peter fruitlessly tried to finger comb his hair. “Calm down, you look fine,” he promised.

 

He snapped his fingers and pointed to one of the dark red convertibles. “Jump in,” he pressed, sliding into the front seat. Peter dropped his toothbrush on the bench and opened his mouth to speak with a somewhat questionable look on his face. “No, absolutely not,” Tony laughed, already knowing Peter wanted to have a go backing the car out of the garage.

 

Peter pouts but clambered into the passenger seat all the same. “I let you reverse one time and now you’re addicted,” Tony grumbled without much heat. “Anyway, I was going to say stop worrying about your hair. In case you hadn’t noticed yet, this is a convertible.”

 

“ _Ugh_ , of course you pick the car without a roof,” Peter complains. Tony just flashes him a smile and pulls out of the garage seamlessly.

 

The drive wasn’t a long one, the Stark Expo was close enough, especially considering Tony had the option to choose where it was held.

 

Peter sighed as they pulled up, biting his lip and wincing against the harsh camera flashes. “Remind me why we’re doing this again,” he murmured. Tony squeezed his shoulder as they stepped around the car. Luckily, Happy had already arrived and started working on crowd control, so there was a roped off section which gave Tony and Peter a clear path to walk down without worrying about reporters and paparazzi.

 

Tony had a smile on and waved politely, although he kept Peter pressed against his side. They didn’t stop for questions, but Peter did duck his head and give a few reporters a shy smile.

 

“Nice of you to show up to your own expo, Stark.” Tony looked up and Peter could feel the instinctive tightening of his fingers around his shoulders. Norman was stood just outside the entrance, his arms folded across his chest.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be presenting about now?” Tony asked coldly, irritation clear in his tone.

 

“Thanks to you, it got pushed back. They don’t want to officially start until you’re here in case you weren’t going to show up to your own presentation. So, thanks for that.” Norman had a frown on his face, he was scowling directly at Tony.

 

“Well it is my expo, it’s literally called the Stark expo.” Tony mirrored the way Norman’s stance was confident, he positioned himself slightly in front of Peter, his lip twitching in annoyance. “So, my bad for even giving you a slot to present at _my_ expo.”

 

Norman clenched his teeth irritably. Tony quirked a brow, daring the man to say more.

 

“I should, um – I should probably get backstage now,” Peter said quietly. Tony immediately diverted his attention and focused on Peter.

 

“Okay, bud, text me if you need, I’ll just be answering questions from the press.” Peter nodded, smiling as Tony gave his arm a final squeeze and watching him hurry off to the backstage area where all the tech was kept.

 

Once Peter was out of earshot, Norman turned to watch Tony carefully.

 

“Why’d you invite me this year? What’s your ulterior motive, Stark?” The billionaire narrowed his eyes, waiting for Tony’s explanation.

 

“I figured it was only fair to give your kid a day off from the ever-present threat of being thrust into a hostage situation. This place has constant security, and nobody’s going to threaten backstage crew at an event like this. So, you’re welcome.” Tony turned, smiling at a distant reporter working their way through the crowd towards him. “It’s not my business, Norman, but the amount you _don’t_ worry when your son is kidnapped – pretty concerning to say the least.”

 

Norman opened his mouth to protest, or to snark back, but Tony was already being swept away in a tidal of questions and fake press smiles.

 

\----

 

Harry bit the edge of his lip as the crappy backstage PC glitched out during the fifth export he had attempted. He huffed irritably and lightly smacked the side of the screen with little intent to harm.

 

“C’mon, you have one job – just export the damn files,” he grunted, clicking the mousepad enough to crash the stupid machine even more. Harry groaned audibly, straightening up and stretching his back as he dragged his hands over his eyes.

 

“H – Harry?” The teen snapped his head up as he heard his name being called. He looked up at Peter, who had appeared behind the thick curtain separating the stage from their small area.

 

“Oh, uh hey Pete.” The smaller teen smiled before quirking his head to the side and scrunching his nose up in thought.

 

“Are you… are you a backstage technician this year?” Harry nodded, gesturing to the PC with a frozen screen.

 

“Yep, although if this is the tech we get, then I regret everything.” Peter laughed softly at Harry’s disgruntled complaint.

 

“Here,” he began, moving much closer than where he had been. Harry could smell the mint on his breath. “It freezes up a lot, you just gotta know how to handle it.” Peter fiddled blindly for a moment, then yanked a cord out of place, momentarily turning the screen to black before plugging it back in and watching the start-up menu load.

 

“You’d think a tech expo like this would have better technology…” Harry smiled, Peter’s nose pinkened slightly. “I’m here because your Dad gave Norman a presentation slot this year.”

 

“Of course he did,” Peter mumbled. “So, how come you’re doing backstage crew then?” Harry watched the way Peter shifted nervously in place, how his fingers crept up to push a strand of hair off his face.

 

“Your Dad suggested it, he said it could be an alternative to following Norman around and dodging paparazzi all day.” Harry smiled lopsidedly. “And you?”

 

“I’ve always done this, its quieter, I like the peace.” Peter looked across at the stairwell beside the stage, listening for the next presenter in case they showed up earlier than the schedule had planned. “I think you’ll like it too, or at least you’ll like it better than trailing after your father all day.”

 

For a moment, there was quiet aside from the whirr of the computer fan, but it was quickly broken by the soft chime of the home screen. “How has everything been, since y’know…”

 

“Uh, not too bad actually. The press calmed down after awhile and I guess Norman did a few interviews, but other than that… nothing’s really going down. I had school, interviews, photoshoots, not much else.” Peter frowned, tilting his head to the side, causing a stray curl to slip out from behind his ear and dangle above his eyes.

 

“But you just… you just got kidnapped? Wouldn’t you want to stay away from drawing more attention to your popularity in case anyone else gets the idea to do the same thing?” Harry looked to the floor and scuffed the top edge of his shoe against the floor.

 

“You’d think so,” he mumbled unhappily. “But its promotional, y’know the drill.”

 

“Uh…” Peter rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and looked to the floor. “I don’t, not really,” he glanced up to give the taller boy a sympathetic look before speaking again. “My Dad doesn’t want me to do interviews or photoshoots or anything really. I guess he wants to give me a choice, because he never got one.” Peter truly looked up, then. He stared into Harry’s eyes as he spoke, “and it feels like… maybe your Dad didn’t give you much of a choice either.”

 

_“Dad, I don’t wanna today…” Harry, almost eight now, folded his arms and squeezed his shoulders protectively._

_“Well, that’s business. You know the company’s stocks dipped this month, I need a brand seller. That’s you, Harold.” Norman flicked a speck of dust from his laptop screen and sighed when he saw his son pouting in the reflection of it. “What’s the matter, are you frightened of a couple questions and photos? Pull it together, boy. I do this everyday of my life – so can you.”_

 

Harry blinked, shifting weight onto his back foot before slumping in a worn office chair.

 

“I, um… y – yeah, no. I guess I don’t really.” Peter picked up on the not so subtle vibes that the conversation wouldn’t be wise to continue.

 

“We should get something to eat when there’s a break in the presentations. My Dad said he’d get pizzas for the long break, so we may as well find something small after…” Peter leaned over, skimming his eyes across a schedule before biting his lip and wincing subtly. “After… your Dad presents.” Harry huffed a humourless laugh, rolling his eyes at the ceiling.

 

“I didn’t expect anything less,” he said quietly, a bitterness in his tone which made Peter want to knock Norman off the edge of the stage. “He’s on in a few minutes,” Harry said dully. Peter pulled the only available chair out and wheeled himself closer to Harry, their elbows bumping together softly.

 

“Hey, it’ll be all good. Look, you literally have all the power. He gives you the USB with all his slides on it, and you could easily mess with it at any point. I mean, you won’t, but its cool to know you’ve got the option to.” He smiled broadly, his cheeks les red now that he was comfortable.

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry said, his smile less broad and more impish. Peter didn’t know why, but his head rang clear, he liked the lopsided grin on Harry’s face.

 

The two of them didn’t have much to talk about, but they managed to maintain an easy-going conversation about the typical things, school, grades, homework, and so on. There wasn’t much grit until Norman jogged up the steps, threw a USB stick into Harry’s lap, sneered thinly at Peter, and waltzed between the curtains to welcome the crowd.

 

“Asshole,” Harry muttered quietly after his father as Peter ducked his head and plugged the stick in, bringing up the slideshow and staying quiet after that.

 

“Yeah, yes. I can see you’re all very excited I finally got myself a spot at the expo, thanks Tony, by the way.” Harry clenched his teeth when he noticed Peter’s shoulders stiffening slightly. “I’ve got a few reviews, shares and then an exciting announcement near the end, so settle in folks.” Harry could practically hear the false smile Norman was undeniably shooting the audience. “Why don’t we start off with a little review, of my products of course, none of the faulty Stark tech and whatnot –”

 

“Let’s go out, for food,” Harry said abruptly, standing up fast enough to send his chair spinning in a slow circle. “Come on, I’m super thirsty, let’s find a café or something outside the expo. Norman’s boring as shit, let’s get out of here.” Harry held out his hand, for whatever reason, he didn’t know, but Peter took it without much hesitation.

 

“Okay, the slides are set to auto anyway.” Harry watched the pinkish hue tint up Peter’s nose and across his cheeks as he slowly looked down at their hands before they fell apart again. “Let’s um… let’s get going then.”

 

“Okay,” Harry murmured, turning towards the stairwell and descending as quickly as he could. Honestly, it was because he knew Norman probably had a few lines dedicated to purely slandering SI, and he’d rather leave to spare Peter’s feelings than sit and wince every time he had to listen to his father degrading someone he actually liked.

 

\----

 

Peter’s laugh was… it was flawless, if Harry had to describe it. His nose went red and his eyes scrunched up, but he was happy – and Harry was too.

 

“No, no, that’s not even the worst thing, I once got so off topic in a biology exam that I ended my answer with a list of the laws of thermodynamics, so I feel like I’m worse than you.” Peter smiled as he finished off the last of his smoothie, the straw scraping against the bottom of the glass.

 

“Okay, you win – how the hell do you even manage to work thermodynamics into a bio exam, you’re such a nerd.” Harry pushed his empty glass away, so it clinked against Peter’s. “But then again, I guess we both are. I mean, we’re volunteering at a technology expo –”

 

“Speaking of…” Peter said, glancing at his phone. “We should probably head back before Norman finishes his talk.” Harry’s smiled faltered slightly, it was clear he didn’t want to go back yet, but it was unavoidable. “Don’t worry about the stuff Norman says, I’m not going to be offended by anything really.”

 

“That’s not the point, it’s just the fact that its like he _has_ to be an asshole about it.” The two of them rose from their seats as Harry spoke, walking out the front doors and onto the street. “He couldn’t even try to just leave SI out of his presentation. I mean, you can release a new product without dissing on one that your Dad has already produced.” Peter shrugged nonchalantly, both him and Tony didn’t feel the need to be competitive with Oscorp, partly because they did better anyway, but also because Tony didn’t actively compete with different tech. He did his own thing.

 

A large car drove past the two, slowing slightly as the tinted windows reflected the sunlight. Harry took more notice of it then Peter did, he subconsciously quickened his pace. Peter’s curls bounced as he walked slightly faster, it distracted Harry for a moment.

 

“Osborn! Mr. Parker-Stark!” Harry tensed and reached out to grab Peter’s wrist.

 

“Don’t turn around, just keep walking,” he whispered, gently tugging the shorter teen’s arm to lead him forward.

 

“Mr. Parker-Stark, just a few questions! Boys, we have questions, turn for the camera!” Peter felt Harry’s hand squeezing his wrist, grounding him while his shoulders visibly hunched. “Turn, turn, Osborn!” The two of them could hear multiple footsteps behind them, the whirring ad clicking of cameras and the mildly blinding flashes that made everything blurry. “Stark, Stark – has your face healed, are you still bruised?” Harry’s fingers tightened as he pulled Peter past a second news van.

 

“Harry,” the brunette mumbled, almost tripping over his own feet as a paparazzi cut across their path.

 

“I know, I do.” Harry said, “trust me.” Peter readied himself to respond, but Harry picked up the pace so much that they were practically running. “They go straight, all the time.”

 

“What?” Peter asked breathlessly, not pausing to look at the other teen as they ran. “Why are we runni – _agh_!”

 

Harry barley looked behind himself as he took a sharp turn and pulled Peter across an alley and into a doorway. They were both breathing heavily, Peter was looking down at their feet and Harry was pressing the back of his head against the door, sighing as the footsteps and camera snaps filtered past them.

 

“Sorry,” he breathed softly. “I know you hate them.” Peter laughed quietly, leaning forward and resting his forehead beside Harry’s head against the wall.

 

“How often do you do that?” Harry smiled, shrugging innocently.

 

“Couple times a week, maybe more.” The answer only made Peter laugh harder. “What? It’s a good technique, admit it.” Harry smiled lopsidedly again, leaning forward slightly, enough that Peter’s face flushed.

 

“Maybe,” he murmured, looking away as his ears reddened. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact that I wanna get back now, just for the pizza.” Harry rolled his eyes, but the smirk remained on his face.

 

\----

 

“And I’d just like to say thanks, to everyone who’s waited for this release, because I’m sure majority of you are here because your Stark pads broke,” the audience chuckled somewhat unfriendlily.

 

Harry pinched his lips together angrily. He and Peter had been sat down for all of three minutes and Norman had already slipped in about eight separate digs at SI.

 

“I hate him,” Harry spat venomously. He looked down when Peter reached out and squeezed the back of his wrist.

 

“You don’t need to hate him for m –”

 

“I don’t hate him for you, I hate him for _him_. Who he is, what he stands for. I hate him because he’s an asshole.” Harry turned to look up at the other teen, who was watching him with wide, brown eyes. “But if I hate him for how he treats your family… then I can hate him for that too.”

 

“Okay,” Peter said lightly, the smallest hint of a reserved smile on his lips.

 

“So, continuing on, I’d like to draw attention to the particular highlights of this new release compared to the uh… drawbacks, of a past SI release.” Norman’s voice dripped with self-satisfaction and Harry groaned as he dropped his head and busied himself with checking the right slides were in order.

 

“God damnit…” he hissed, reading the next slide up for presentation. The entire thing was a chart noting the best points of the Oscorp release in comparison to the worst in SI’s. “I’m cutting it,” Harry warned.

 

“Wait, no. It’s fine, you don’t need to. He’ll get upset, he’ll blame us.” Peter interjected, a pitch of worry in his voice.

 

“No, he won’t,” Harry argued, deleting the slide completely before facing Peter with a tired look in his eyes. “He’ll blame _me_.”

 

“If you wouldn’t mind looking here at the screen, I… there’s a uh…” Norman raised his pocket-sized slide clicker and switched between the last two slides, frowning as his comparison slide didn’t appear on screen. “There’s a few key differences I’d like to highlight, namely the processing speed and the ram the tech can handle at once.”

 

“See, he’s fine,” Harry pointed out, bitterness still in his tone. “He’s got it memorised.” His tone was a mockery of fake excitement, and Peter could see the anguish in his eyes. The two of them sat quietly as they listened to Norman fumble through the last few points before finally closing the presentation. The two of them could hear chairs squeaking and paper rustling as everyone stood to mingle around the expo some more, but Harry was busy tracking Norman’s footsteps offstage.

 

“And what _hell_ was that exactly, huh?!” Norman demanded as he shoved past the curtain separating the stage from the backstage area. “Are you two trying to run my biggest selling points? Or was it just you?” He rounded on Peter, his eyes burning with anger. “Were you just jealous that I clearly know how to make a good product and you didn’t want it driving your Daddy out of the market, huh?”

 

“I… I didn’t –” Peter stuttered, taking a small step back. It was one slide; how could Norman be this furious about it.

 

“No, you didn’t think. You’re spoiled, Stark does everything for you and all you wanted was to screw me over. You’re a self-assured brat, you don’t deserve recognition like we do, you don’t do anything except leech.” Peter looked at the floor, his cheeks burning in shame. He shook his head timidly, trying to force his feet to carry him backward.

 

“Hey, he didn’t do anything. _I_ deleted the slides because you were being a dick!” Harry stepped up, angling himself in front of his father and keeping Peter out of everything. “Look at what you’re doing right now, you’re screaming about two people who did you a favour by letting you even present. Peter and Mr. Stark helped you today, they didn’t do anything except ignore the fact that you’re an egocentric prick.”

 

Norman’s eyes hardened, his fists clenched at his sides. Peter stiffened, shuffling forward and standing at Harry’s side. He didn’t know if Norman would actually hit Harry in public, in front of him, but he wasn’t taking chances right now.

 

“You want to say that again? I’m telling you, Harold, this isn’t a goddamn subject you’re mature enough to discuss.” Peter ducked his head but instinctively reached out to lean against Harry. “This isn’t something you get to comment on, you’re young and naïve and have zero clue how to help this company. You’re ruining everything.” Peter could see Harry’s nails digging into his palm, he was glaring at the ground now too.

 

“I think Harry has other things to worry about than your company, Norman.” Tony dropped a box of pizza against the chair Peter had been sitting in and approached the tense trio. “Hey Pete, you okay?” He pushed Peter’s hair back and smiled softly at him, gently guiding him back from the still seething adult across from Harry. “They’re both kids. You should have other things to be throwing a tantrum over.”

 

“Do not tell me how to parent my kid, Stark.” Norman pushed his was across and put a tight hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m perfectly capable of disciplining my own blood,” he pressed.

 

Peter could feel the weight of the thick tension and all he had wanted for the past hour or so was pizza, but he was currently dealing with the fact that Norman’s fingers looked to be squeezing too tightly against Harry’s shoulders.

 

“Harry,” he said softly, smiling gently as the taller boy looked up from the floor to meet his eyes. “We should eat,” he murmured, drifting towards the box. Norman’s fingers tightened, before loosening enough for Harry to avert his eyes and slip over to where Peter stood.

 

“You two can eat on the stairs,” Tony suggested, not taking his eyes off Norman.

 

“ _Mhm_ ,” Peter hummed. He picked up the box and Harry trailed after him as they moved out of earshot.

 

“I take it you understand this is the last time you’ll ever be invited back here?” Tony said, not unkindly. “But I’m assuming we’re going to have an issue if I offer your son a position as a backstage technician.”

 

“You can do what you like, as far as I’m concerned as long as Harold’s out of the way, I don’t particularly care.” Tony glowered before shaking his head at the floor and waving his hand dismissively.

 

\----

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled as Peter sat on the last step and handed him a slice of pizza.

 

“Don’t apologise, you didn’t do anything wrong. You stood up for me, so I should be thanking you.” He looked up and smiled genuinely, taking his own piece of pizza.

 

“I just… I want you to know the stuff Norman said was bullshit. You’re the most selfless person I’ve met, you don’t ‘leech’ or whatever he was talking about. I think you’re great,” he admitted quietly. “You don’t deserve the media making things difficult, or the shit Norman said.” 

 

“Thanks, but I want you to know that whatever he says to you isn’t true either. I… I saw his fingers and I’ve seen you flinch before, in the cell. It’s not my place but I –” Peter paused, biting his lip when he saw Harry look away. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I just want you to be safe.”

 

“I’m okay, he doesn’t… Norman just… it’s not as bad as you think,” Harry managed after some pauses to consider what exactly he was planning on saying.

 

“Okay, well if you ever need somewhere to go, or you want to just get out of the house, my Dad and I have way too many rooms for ourselves. The tower is massive, it’s got a café and heaps of spare labs.” Harry tilted his chin up, looking over to Peter. “I’m just trying to say you have options.” Peter nudged his shoulder with a meek smile, “we can always prove the media wrong. An Osborn and a Stark, friends. They’d eat it up.”

 

“I’d like that, I’m always happy to prove the media wrong. Friends?” Harry put his hand out, watching Peter smile as he took the offering.

 

“Friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
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	4. Oscorp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a field trip to Oscorp, how the hell is he going to - avoid Norman - not embarrass himself in front of Flash or Harry, who may or may not be there - _and_ stay out of trouble?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
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> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

“I hate you; I hate you. You’re the worst. I’m going to make a fool of myself in front of everyone and my face will go red and you’re totally allowing this to happen! Stop laughing!” Peter leaned over and smacked the back of Tony’s hand, the permission slip he had been about to sign fluttered to the floor quietly.

 

“Oh, come on, you’re gonna be fine,” Tony insisted, picking the page back up calmly. Peter vibrated as he made a swipe for the page again.

 

“You think you’re being funny, but I will literally walk into another glass door in front of _everyone_.” Tony chuckled aloud at the memory. “Please don’t sign it, please, please, ple –”

 

“Calm down, Pete,” Tony muttered as he scrawled his name at the bottom of the permission slip. “It’s part of your curriculum, so even if you weren’t worried about embarrassing yourself in front of _someone_ ,” he arched his brows. “You’d still have to go.”

 

Peter groaned loudly as he reluctantly accepted the signed permission slip. “You should be excited,” Tony pointed out.

 

“Excited to give Flash more of a reason to humiliate me?” Peter asked bitterly. Tony rolled his eyes and waved his hand lazily.

 

“You have two days before the trip, just take a breather.” Peter sighed and leaned back against the couch, so he could rest his head on Tony’s shoulder.

 

“What if Norman sees me? What if he’s giving the tour or Ned is sick that day and I’m on my own –”

 

“You’re thinking of the worst-case scenario,” Tony pointed out, resting a hand on Peter’s head. “And I think the only thing keeping Ned from touring Oscorp would be a real nasty sickness. He’s just as much of a nerd as you, kiddo.” Peter pouted, folding his arms across his chest and facing the wall.

 

“Rude,” he huffed. “Well don’t blame me when something goes totally wrong.”

 

\----

 

“Why’re you so jumpy today? Dude, chill out.” Ned frowned, nudging Peter as he stared out the window of the bus.

 

“I don’t know, I just… I’m over excited I guess,” he said weakly. Ned scoffed.

 

“You’re a terrible liar,” he complained. “We’ve been looking forward to this for months, how come you’re acting all off now?” Peter squirmed in his bus seat as the vehicle began pulling over to the side.

 

“I don’t know, I really don’t. I’m getting nervous jitters, you know?” Ned nodded in understanding, but he still leaped up out of his seat along with everyone else.

 

“Come on! I wanna go through the spinning doors!” He yelled over the crowd of their peers. Peter sighed as he walked down the steps of the bus. “Peter stop moping,” Ned pressed, grabbing his arm and tugging him to the front of the line where he yanked his phone out and took a selfie. Peter grimaced and gave himself a double chin, making Ned laugh.

 

“I’m not moping,” he mumbled as Ned bustled him through the spinning glass doors and into the building. “I’m blending into the background and trying not to break anything.”

 

“Okay, yeah. Fair enough, man.” Ned turned, glancing over his shoulder to take note of Flash and his friends coming through the rotating doors after them. “He’ll probably leave us alone today though; he wouldn’t want to get kicked out of Oscorp.” Peter shrugged in response.

 

“Anyways,” he began. “Do you think the tour guide will let us take photos of the new cross-species experiment?”

 

“Uh, I dunno Pete, I heard they crossed a rabbit with a goat, and it coughs up grass hairballs.” Ned waggled his eyebrows comically and laughed as Peter elbowed him in the side. “What? Surely they’ll at least let us look around the labs.”

 

A woman with dark hair in an uncomfortably tight looking ponytail stepped in front of the Midtown students who milled around the lobby looking excited.

 

“Alright, those of you here for the Midtown School of Science tour – please gather around.” Her voice was nasally but she seemed energetic enough to handle the crowd. “You’ve all been given access to specific floors based on what subjects you take. Please find your nametag on these four benches over he –”

 

Her voice was quickly drowned out as the school group rushed over to find their nametags and figure out if they had the same floor access as their friends. Peter knew he took physics, chemistry and decathlon with Ned, so they would probably have the same access. “All of you have floors twenty to twenty-three, and your supervisors will have hopefully organised an area to regroup for lunch. Please don’t touch anything and refrain from using flash on your phones. Enjoy.”

 

Ned threw his name tag over his head and around his neck before holding it up and fist pumping when he saw all the same floors printed on Peter’s.

 

“Oh sweet! We get to spend the whole trip together.” Ned babbled. Peter smiled and raised his hand for their handshake.

 

“I say we start at the highest floor and go down from there, so it’s quieter,” Peter pointed out. Ned nodded and the two of them clambered into an elevator before anyone else could squeeze in. “Okay, so we swipe these,” he mumbled to himself as he tried to navigate the card scanner in the elevator which gave them access to certain floors.

 

The scanner made a small beeping sound and then the entire elevator started rising up to the highest floor both Peter and Ned had access to, number forty-nine. “Woah, dude…” Peter mumbled as the elevator doors opened into a hallway of glass windows looking into labs and experimental rooms.

 

“Oh, they’re making tech up here!” Ned exclaimed excitedly. He was right, the rooms were filled with different sized tech equipment, some technicians were soldering on a multi board and others were carefully assembling different sized devices.

 

“I wonder if this is all for show, like maybe they have a back room where they’re actually assembling the new Oscorp branded phone.” Peter smirked and watched Ned rolling his eyes. “What? S.I. phones are way better and you know it.”

 

“Flash just posted on the class page, there’s a dude in a full-on hazmat suit on floor thirty-six.” Ned arched an eyebrow at Peter, his face said he wanted to go to floor thirty-six. Peter sighed.

 

“Okay, fine,” he grumbled without heat as Ned walked back to the elevator. “There better be some cross-mutation thingies,” he said as Ned rolled his own eyes and swiped his key card.

 

The elevator beeped and Peter jumped in quickly, holding onto the bar and pointedly not swiping his own keypad because Ned already had.

 

“…ease step back, this is a quarantined area, please step back, boy.”

 

The door opened to reveal Flash stepping away from a man who was indeed wearing an all-white hazmat suit. In fairness, Flash was standing over a red and black line of tape which read ‘quarantined area, do not cross.’

 

“The rest of this floor is open to the public, just not this area. Please go entertain yourself with our other exhibits.” The man in the suit seemed to have no patience left, and he ignored Flash as he huffed and stepped back to join the small huddle.

 

“This floor sucks, lets go check out the tech labs,” he complained as the group piled into the elevator. Peter and Ned slipped their way out before the doors closed; they were in time to see the man in the hazmat suit retreating back into a lab within the quarantined zone.

 

Peter jumped slightly when Ned elbowed his arm with wide eyes. They looked at each other and wordlessly took a few steps backward.

 

“That hazmat suit dude was intense,” Ned muttered as they turned on their heels to walk down the hall in the opposite direction. “I bet there’s something awesome in that tab,” he pressed, looking over his shoulder before shooting Peter an overly excited expression.

 

“You reckon? I totally just wanna peek through the window a few feet past the tape… I think they’re doing something cool in that lab.” Peter said as he examined some mediocre animal skulls in display cases.

 

“You should, I reckon there’s probably more interesting stuff in the biology labs, cus y’know, cross-species experiments…” Ned touched his pocket, frowning slightly as he began to fumble. “Oh dude, I think I left my nametag scanner card thingy in the elevator!” He sighed loudly, “that tour guide is gonna rip me a new one, I totally need to go grab it, maybe nobody’s taken it.”

 

“That sucks man, I’ll wander around for a bit and then probably check out the floor below us.” Ned nodded, making his way back to the elevator and giving Peter a fake salute.

 

Peter could hear the elevator give a distant ‘ding’ in answer before Ned was shooting off to one of the higher floors to assumingly ask some of the other groups if they had found his card.

 

The rest of the floor was empty aside from a sign pointing down to the next floor with a bathroom sign attached. Peter looked back to see the quarantine tape. His spine tingled with rebellion as he thought about how cool it would be to know what the people were working on in there. He wouldn’t even need to get into the lab to see, he’d just have to peek quickly through the window and that was it.

 

Peter couldn’t help the temptation, plus the fact that if he found something cool, Tony would probably roll his eyes and go off on a tangent about Oscorp’s work ethic, which was always fun to listen to. “Screw it,” he murmured, stepping up close to the line and checking up and down the hallway before passing right over it.

 

He bit the inside of his lip as he scurried past the door into the lab. He could hear muffled voices through the window, they sounded like scientists judging by the long words they were using which he was pretty sure didn’t actually mean anything that interesting.

 

He gingerly smoothed his hair down, hoping he wouldn’t give himself away by the fluffed up messy hair he had going on. Peter crouched slightly and tilted his head until he could see through the glass window with one eye.

 

The lab was grey and white, it had several benches with metal surfaces and a few different sheets of presumably research papers spread across them. The man had stepped out of his hazmat suit, there was a woman in a white lab coat and a second man in a suit. They were having a conversation, the man in the suit had his back to the window and seemed to be directing the conversation.

 

“…thing’s wrong… shouldn’t be out until… radiation stabilises itself.”

 

“Well then… is your job to get it back in the containment sector… where it can’t hurt anyone.”

 

Peter ducked down as the man in the suit turned to stare directly at the two doctors. _Shit. Shit. Shit – oh shit_.

 

It was Norman Osborn.

 

“For christ’s sake, there’s a field trip today, and I’m not getting my ass sued for one of them getting radiation poisoning.” He snapped, running a hand over his forehead before stopping at his hairline and turning towards the door. Peter startled, backing away from the window and desperately looking back to the tape line which he would never make it to before Norman opened the door.

 

Behind him, at the opposite end of the corridor, there was a door. If he ran, he could get there in time to see whether it was locked and he was screwed, or if it was unlocked and he could thank whatever cruel god was out there.

 

Norman was reaching out for the door handle and Peter was tearing down the hall and yanking the handle of the opposite door.

 

The door swung open so forcefully that Peter was almost knocked back on his rear. Nevertheless, he threw himself into what looked and smelled like a storage cupboard right as he heard the tell-tale ‘click’ of the door to the lab opening. 

 

Expensive sounding dress shoes clicked against the linoleum as Norman walked away from both the lab and the storage cupboard Peter was huddled away in. The teen let out a long breath before stiffening up as the hazmat suit man and female scientist’s shoes tapped against the floor.

 

“We’ll need to get security to lockdown this floor, revoke the students’ access and find this thing before we get another lawsuit.”

 

“ _Another_ …?” Peter repeated to himself quietly as the voices in the hall retreated. He wrinkled his nose unhappily; the storage room was stuffier than anything he had been prepared for.

 

Stepping back out into the hallway was a relief Peter didn’t think he disregarded. He knew he needed to get down to the next floor before the floor he was on got locked down. As he walked back down the hall, he couldn’t help but rest his forehead against the glass and peer into the lab properly. He could see the shelves of microscopes and odd-looking machines he probably didn’t know how to use.

 

He was so enraptured by the new equipment that he ignored the tickle against the back of his hand for a moment too long.

 

“ _Ah!_ ” He yelped, wincing at the sudden itch which stung sharply until it felt like he had been jabbed with the end of a pin. “What the hell,” he mumbled offendedly, rubbing the back of his hand and missing the small arachnid scuttling back across the floor and beneath the door to the storage cupboard.

 

Peter held the back of his hand as he walked, elbowing open the door to the staircase and stomping down the steps like a scolded toddler. “Stupid Oscorp field trip,” he muttered. His hand stung worse that it had in the beginning, he could practically feel his heartbeat thudding against the red and shiny skin which seemed to be swelling up like a lump.

 

Peter groaned, wiping his sleeve over his face as he was struck with a hot flush which washed into a cold sensation. “Ughh hhng,” he whined, pushing the door open to the next floor and stumbling over the last step. Everything swung around him, the floor shuddered beneath his feet and everything was too hot, too cold, too feverish and too hypothermic.

 

Peter closed his eyes for a moment, trying to seize control of his stuttering breaths again. His chest was tight, and he could feel sweat beading against his temples. Everything felt wrong, he was about to puke or pass out, and he could feel it. His mouth flooded with dryness; his stomach seemed to be filled with cotton balls.

 

He opened his eyes long enough to catch sight of the nearest bathroom, his throat was too tight, and he needed to douse himself in water.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut again and almost immediately walked into a wall.

 

Except walls don’t say _oof_.

 

“S’rry,” Peter croaked, squinting wide enough to skirt around whoever he had collided with but still staying on his beeline course to get to the bathroom.

 

The tiles were cold beneath his palm. For a split-second Peter legitimately considered pressing his face up against them to chill his burning cheeks and forehead before the logical side of his brain rebooted and he realised it would probably result in about a hundred people’s germs smearing across his skin. “Oh, god…” he mumbled, rushing to the sink and bending over it as he shuddered in time to another hot flush.

 

A tap turned on beside him, and without thinking Peter jerked his head up.

 

“Hey,” the someone said softly. Peter blinked as he focused in on light blue eyes framed by dark hair. “You look like shit.”

 

“I… y – yeah,” he choked out. “Sorry.”

 

Harry smiled sympathetically, he was dampening paper towels under the cold water with one hand, the other rested against the countertop between the sink he was standing over and the one Peter was stood in front of.

 

“You okay?” He asked, handing the damp paper towels to Peter and leaning against the sinks as the shorter teen wiped his brow and sighed contentedly as cold water dripped down his neck.

 

“Yeah, I guess I have a sudden onset fever or s’mething stupid like that.” He groaned, accepting the dryer paper towel that Harry handed him to wipe away the excess water from his hairline, which had begun to curl up from the humidity. “What about you?”

 

“Not much,” Harry answered as he swept the paper towels into the trash. “Worrying about you I guess,” he smirked. Peter leant the back of his head against the mirror and shot his friend a glance. “Why’re you here, anyway?”

 

“Stupid field trip. Not like I’ve seen it all before at home or anything…” Harry punched his arm and Peter managed a weak laugh. “You’re telling me if you had to come to S.I. for a school trip you wouldn’t complain?”

 

“Depends if you were there or not,” Harry retorted. Peter huffed exaggeratedly, lifting a hand to drag it through his hair. Harry’s eyes tracked the movement before they narrowed. “What happened to your hand?” Peter froze, tilting his hand to look at the back of it curiously.

 

There were two small red dots on the back of his hand, the skin around them was tinged pinkish, and to be honest – it hurt more than it looked. Peter could still feel his heartbeat within the wound.

 

“I uh, dunno?” He answered meekly. 

 

“I’m gonna get you some anti-inflammatory meds and an ice pack,” Harry said quickly. He jerked his head towards the door as Peter’s cue to follow, which he did.

 

\----

 

“Dude, you will not believe what I saw after I got my card back! There was this floor with all these microscopes and one of them had a DNA strand of a successful cross-species hybrid. It was so cool,” Ned hurriedly explained as the two of them walked towards the buses. “Oh I can’t believe Happy’s picking you up, I wanna tell you all about the stuff we saw!”

 

“Yeah, I know, but the tower’s like… a ten-minute drive from here, so what’s the point in Happy just having to drive all the way to school to pick me up.” Peter shrugged, distractedly running a finger over the line of cloth Harry had gently wrapped around his hand, he hid a small smile.

 

“Okay well I’m definitely spamming you with all the pics I got,” Ned promised as he clambered up the steps onto the bus. He was holding up the queue but still had time to lean over and give Peter a fist bump.

 

\----

 

“How was the trip?” Tony asked without turning around from whatever project he was currently elbows deep in.

 

“Eh, pretty much what I expected,” Peter sighed as he dropped his bag and slumped into the office chair next to Tony. “I kinda have a headache, and I’ve already had like… an entire bottle of water so that’s not it.” Tony laughed from beside him, finally spinning around in his chair.

 

“Yeah, you look a bit pale, huh?” Tony mumbled, he reached out to rest the back of his hand against Peter’s forehead before flipping it back over and pushing the fluffy mess that was Peter’s fringe up out of the way again. “You need a rest, kid. A whole day of staring at shitty tech will do that to you.”

 

Peter scoffed lightly, trailing after Tony as he walked down the hall and pulled the covers back on Peter’s bed. “Here, kick your shoes off, I’m gonna get you some water anyway.” Peter rolled his eyes but slipped his shoes off anyway. He changed quickly and slipped into bed, his head hitting the pillow as Tony pushed the door back open and held up a glass of water with a smirk on his face. “Gotta stay hydrated, Pete.”

 

“Thanks, _every doctor I’ve ever met in my life_.” Peter muttered as he reluctantly took the glass and set it down beside his bed. He looked up at Tony, a more sincere look on his face. “I saw Harry,” he admitted.

 

“Was that before or after you walked into a glass door?” Tony asked, feigning seriousness.

 

“Oh, let’s see,” Peter said, pretending to think. “No, actually it was around the same time I took a corner too fast and ran right into him.” Tony barked a quick laugh before it dissolved into a cough as Peter shot him a look.

 

“What a cliché meet cu –”

 

“ _Ughhh_!” Peter groaned, rolling over as Tony laughed to bury his face in a pillow.

 

“Okay kiddie, you get some sleep, I’ll stop teasing,” Tony promised. Peter felt a hand scratching through his curls and a quick kiss pressing over the crown of his head before soft footsteps receded from his room. The door clicked shut and Peter listened to his father’s footsteps echoing down the hall, all the way until he was back in the lab downstairs. He heard the squeak of his chair as he sat.

 

_Huh_ , he thought to himself through a yawn. _Normally these walls are sound-proofed…_ But the reality was, Peter was too tired out to think seriously about why he could listen to his father’s heartbeat from several sound-proofed rooms and two hallways away, so he simple closed his eyes and let the gentle _thump, thump, thump_ of his father’s heart lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I got Tumblr not so long ago ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad) and lots of whump...
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy to get asks and getting prompts or suggestions for new things to write if you leave them on Tumblr.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to write it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I got Tumblr not so long ago ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad) and lots of whump...
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy to get asks and getting prompts or suggestions for new things to write if you leave them on Tumblr.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to write it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


End file.
